Have to Drive
by McStories
Summary: A psychotic cop-killer has a score to settle with McGee. Tony's vehemence about protecting his Probie takes him by surprise, especially when it begins to develop into more than simply a desire to protect. Now completed.
1. Chapter 1

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Author's Note: This is my first NCIS story, so go easy on me. It will be slash, oh yes, and it will contain violence, h/c, sexy sex, and non-con situations that will happen mostly off-screen. I love reviews, but I gotta be honest - I'll keep writing this one either way, so if you don't wanna review it, you don't gotta.

Thanks!

* * *

Footsteps pounded down the stairwell, all thumping noise and shadows on the peeling plaster walls. Tony only had time to say a harsh, vehement curse and to drag himself up on the wall until he was standing – sort of – before the three sets of footsteps thundered to the bottom floor and turned the corner.

He hadn't figured there was much hope it was his own guys coming down to get him, but the sight of three heads of red hair and three almost matching sadistic faces made his gut curl.

At least his wound was in his thigh, which meant there was nothing preventing his arm from coming up, and nothing to make his aim waiver as he targeted the first of the three psycho brothers who turned the corner off the staircase and found him between them and the door. "Think you're going somewhere, guys?"

The first brother, the older one, Colin or Conor or whotheIrishfuckever, gave him a slightly wild grin that practically misted with adrenaline. "Don't have time for you, Feddie. Conor, shoot him."

Tony braced against the wall, painfully aware that he could fall fast but that was about the limit of his range of movement. "You want to add killing an NCIS agent to your rap sheet? Really?"

Wrong thing to say. The guy just grinned and moved in towards him as if somehow certain Tony wouldn't shoot. "Three cops, two Marines. Why the fuck would one NCIS agent make any difference?"

Tony blinked. He almost laughed, because there was no answer to that question.

But there was. Because a voice from behind the other two brothers supplied it. "Maybe because it isn't just one NCIS agent."

The two younger brothers behind Colin both turned, guns flying up to aim at the new threat. Tony could barely see around Colin – who didn't even twitch – but luckily the newcomer was tall.

Tony's laugh came out then, breathy and relieved. "That's a real melodramatic sense of timing you're developing there, Probie."

Behind the other two brothers, the surprisingly calm green eyes of Tim McGee glanced Tony's way. His Sig was in his hand, his aim as steady as Tony's. Only the slightest furrow in his brow gave him away. "Put your weapons down. There's nowhere for you to go."

Colin – Conor, Clancy, Tony couldn't tell any of the brothers apart – lifted his own piece, and suddenly Tony's focus went from McGee's steady gaze to the alarmingly close barrel of bad guy's pistol.

"I've got a hostage right here who says we can go wherever we want," he said, his eyes never leaving Tony. "Drop the gun. Both of you. Or I'll drop smart ass here."

Tony forced a grin, acknowledging the label.

"No, you won't."

"Want to bet?"

Tony's eyes flashed from the barrel back to McGee. And he would have to remember later to think about maybe giving the kid some kind of credit, because the Probie of even a year ago would have been sweating and obeying, worrying about what the textbook procedures were to ensure a peaceful resolution.

This McGee, with the fancier suits and actual product in his hair, spoke like he was somehow in charge despite the two gun barrels aimed his way. "You won't, because the second you shoot Special Agent DiNozzo, I'll shoot at least one of your brothers. Of course the minute I do that one of you will probably shoot me, but that's already a minute longer than the rest of our team needs to get here."

It was almost a Gibbs move, arguing with a nutcase, but McGee's low, even voice and his can't-help-but-be-bookish-and-nerdy demeanor gave him a different vibe. Like a professor teaching some lesson that should have been easy. Like Spock explaining the only logical outcome to the situation, and God help him, Tony almost bought it.

McGee's eyes were the only breech in his calm mask, jumping from Colin's gun to Tony's face and back again, revealing his nervousness in a way probably only Tony picked up on. "Either we all get out of here or none of us do, Dougherty."

"Fuck you!" Colins's eyes flashed, and his hand tightened around his gun. He looked away from Tony for the first time, glancing back over his shoulder with darting eyes. His arm twitched, muscles tensing.

The cop in Tony knew that this was getting way too serious, and the everybody-dies scenario McVulcan had concocted was suddenly looking alarmingly real. He watched the muscles in Colin's jaw twitch and felt the indecision from the two younger brothers behind him.

Tony's every instinct fought against giving in, but the Doughertys were too dangerous, and McGee was still a Probie who could too easily make the wrong move. Swallowing down any sense of self-preservation, he slipped on the safety to his gun and held up his hands an an unmistakable gesture. He didn't look back at McGee but trusted him to follow his lead. "Nobody needs to get hurt here, guys. You want a hostage, you got it."

Colin turned back to him. He took one look at his raised hands and came at Tony in a flash. He grabbed Tony's arm with a thick hand and drove his wrist back against the wall, forcing his hand open. The gun dropped with a heavy clatter against the cement floor of the stairwell.

Tony winced but held himself still, silently ordering McGee not to move. Fuck, this was bad. Hostage to these guys meant corpse, and everyone there knew it. The first cop the Doughertys had killed – the first NCIS knew about, anyway – had been their hostage from a bank robbery gone bad. They used him as a shield to get away, and then slit his throat and dumped him into a ditch off the highway once they didn't need him anymore.

Fucking sadistic bastards, these brothers. Matching hair, matching psychoses. Must have been a fun house to grow up in.

His choices were limited and Tony didn't trust McGee to argue with these bastards long enough to attract Ziva and Gibbs from whatever part of the building they were searching. So he swallowed a feeling of sudden coldness and knew he had made the right move.

"McGee." Even his voice shivered. "Put the gun down."

"No."

Tony's eyes darted beyond Colin to McGee and then back. "That's an order, Probie."

Colin's gaze stuck on Tony, even as a tight grin twitched at his mouth. "Smart move, Feddie. Now you get to go for a ride."

"I said no."

Colin did glance back at McGee then, but looked more annoyed than anything. "For Christ's sake. Conor, shoot him if he doesn't drop it."

Instantly a shot thundered out. Tony winced as the sound rumbled though the stairwell.

Colin wheeled around.

For a moment Tony was frozen, going entirely cold. But when Colin moved he saw McGee still standing there. It was his arm holding the pistol upward, his barrel still wisping steam from the shot – harmless into a wall, judging by the flakes of plaster curling to the floor across from McGee.

McGee's face was deadly serious, his eyes cool and inscrutable. Like he was doing a Gibbs impression, and to Tony's surprise he wasn't too far off the mark.

"I said no," McGee repeated into the silence that followed his shot. Apparently as a shock technique firing the gun worked, because Colin and his brothers stood there, unmoving and gaping.

And then McGee went too far.

"If you need a hostage you're taking me."

"What?" Even Colin sounded thrown off by that.

Tony shook his head instantly. "Probie, shut the hell up and--"

McGee didn't even look at Tony. His eyes stayed on Colin. "He's already hurt. One of your bullets caught him in the leg. He'll slow you down, even if you manage to make it to your car."

For a moment there was silence. Tony pushed himself further up the wall as if to prove McGee wrong, and stifled a gasp when the splitting pain in his thigh jarred up his body.

Colin made a motion Tony didn't catch, and though Tony couldn't see his face he sounded amused. "You want it, hero? You got it."

"McGee!" Tony dug into the wall behind him with his fingernails to hold himself up, trying to make McGee meet his eyes. "Back off. I can handle--"

McGee ignored him. He seemed to reach some silent understanding with Colin. He lowered his revolver.

The two silent brothers moved fast, one grabbing McGee's weapon, the other pushing him around and towards Colin.

Colin didn't seem inclined to waste any more time. He caught McGee by the arm and twisted, pushing his wrist up high behind his back.

But McGee wasn't done. He wrenched his arm right back out of Colin's grip, staring the killer in the face for a moment before turning to Tony as casually as if they were saying see-ya-later after a long day in the office.

Tony shook his head the minute McGee's eyes landed on him. "No. Don't you fucking dare, McGee."

McGee's gaze dropped to Tony's leg for a moment, and he gave the smallest of shrugs.

Tony's wound throbbed, and he pushed off the wall as if in defiance. _You don't know what you're doing,_ he wanted to snap. _The Doughertys are death._

McGee turned back to the brothers and, without any guidance, strolled past them and to the door.

"Agent McGee, you _stand down_!"

Not even a pause in McGee's steps. Like it was his show. Like the whole thing was his fucking idea.

"McGee, damn it...Dougherty, you--" Tony's protests were cut off by the sudden shriek of the fire alarm as one of the younger brothers pushed the door open.

Tony dropped without hesitation and scooped up his gun. His leg screamed but he swept it up and aimed the barrel...

...right at the closing door.

"Fuck!" He pushed to his feet, ignoring his leg and the nausea swirling in his stomach. From behind him came sudden thundering footsteps, drawn by the alarm if they hadn't already been drawn by the bullet McGee had fired. But it was too fucking late.

He limped to the door too fucking slowly and pulled it open. The sedan was already roaring to life, and Tony's aim was steady but not so good that he trusted himself to shoot the car and not hit the wrong passenger by mistake.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs, shouting and harsh and too damned late, pounded up behind him and slammed to a stop against the door frame. His weapon was up instantly, aiming for the departing car, and he got off one round. His bullet splintered the rear windshield.

"No!" Tony leaned over, jerking his arm down before he could fire again. "Boss, don't!"

The wheels squealed and the car shot through the gravel onto the quieter dirt of the road that would lead them to the highway, less than a mile away.

Gibbs went a few steps outside, tracking the car with his revolver. But he didn't fire again, and before the car was out of sight he turned and glowered. "What in the hell were you--"

"McGee's in there." Tony watched the car roaring down the road, already knowing they'd never get to their own car in time to give chase. Other side of the god damned building, other end of the world.

Gibbs looked instantly back at the departing car, as if he could count the silhouettes and verify the story. But the sedan was already distant, and a moment later he turned back to Tony. What was behind his eyes was a hundred times more dangerous than wild-eyed Colin Dougherty. "McGee."

"Yeah." Fuck, Tony would never stop paying for this. No matter what happened. "They've got him."

* * *

"I mean, it was his idea! Idiot probie. I told him, I _ordered _him to stand down, Gibbs." If Tony was babbling he had a good reason. The tension coming off his boss was thick enough to strain breathing. Tony couldn't look at the fury in those blue eyes without seeing McGee, calm and scared and _calm_, walking out the door to keep Tony from going.

"He believed your injury would make it harder for you to get away," came Ziva's reasoned answer. She didn't turn to him, just stared at the closed doors of the elevator waiting for them to open. But her shoulders were back, her chin high, and she was even more grim than usual. "He assumed his odds of escaping were greater."

Tony had to laugh, because he had to. "Oh, please! Yeah, I'm hurt, but he's _McGee!_ My odds of escaping would always be better." He looked from Ziva's narrow, stiff shoulders to Gibbs. How a man could radiate so much sincere anger without moving a muscle was beyond Tony. "Boss, I tried to stop him. I really tried to--"

The elevator dinged softly, the doors pushed open. Ziva stepped out as if escaping, moving fast around the corner to her desk.

Gibbs stepped to the elevator door and stood for a moment, then turned around in the doorway.

Tony froze, caught in what was suddenly a small square cell. He met Gibbs' eyes, but only for a moment. "I tried."

"Go to Ducky and get your leg looked at." Gibbs' voice was too low.

It felt like forgiveness, but too quick and too easy to be real. Tony swallowed, unable to lift his gaze back to Gibbs' face. "Okay, boss."

Gibbs turned and moved away towards his own desk. "But first," he called back as the doors started to close, "get down to the lab and tell Abby what happened."

The doors shut before Tony could react. Horror slid through him and he sagged against the back wall of the elevator.

Tell Abby.

Tell Abby that her precious Timmy was in the hands of cop-killing maniacs? Tell wide-eyed, innocent and _vengeful_ Abby that Tony had let them walk right out with him?

Jesus. Gibbs hadn't forgiven him at all.

* * *

She looked up when he came in, hair bobbing in the usual ponytails.

"Tony!" She beamed, jumping off the stood in front of one of her dozen computer screens. "Where have you guys _been_? I had news for Gibbs and he didn't even call, and I've been waiting! Not a peep!" Her arm flung out, finger pointing at the silent cell phone sitting at her desk. "This is serious, Caff-Pow worthy news, and Gibbs isn't....where is Gibbs? He always knows when I..._Tony_!"

The last was almost a yelp, and he jerked to a stop. "What?"

Her eyes were on his leg, her cheer snapped off like a light. "Your leg! You're bleeding all over my floor! What happened? You should be at a hospital, or...come here!"

He let her grab his arm, let her lead him to a stool and sit him down. He looked at one of the screens she'd been working at, staring at the magnification of some hair or fiber or whatever. As if hair or fibers helped them at all right then. As if some mass spec reading could change the last two hours of his life.

"--why you didn't go to...Tony?"

He swallowed and looked at her, knowing she would see it.

She did. Her eyes locked on him and all color left her face. "Oh, god. Who?"

"Who?"

"Don't do that, Tony! What happened? Who's..." Her hand flew up to her mouth, chipped nail polish flashing dark against her face. "Gibbs? That's why he didn't come...is he alive, Tony?"

Tony shook his head, then spoke up fast when he realized that could be read as an answer to her question. "Gibbs is upstairs. He's fine."

She relaxed for an instant, but was too smart to let what he didn't say go unnoticed. She approached him slowly, heavy boots dragging on the floor. "McGee? Ziva?"

Tony wanted to look away, but steeled himself to meet her eyes. _Fuck it, DiNozzo, you could face the psychos with the guns. Face this._

Abby could give off a strong vibe. The hair, the collars and clothes, the music and dark makeup. On first meeting more than one person had assumed she was as dark and sullen as the Goth look hinted at. But Abby was Abby – nothing sullen or dark about her. She was all quick grins and gushing emotions and she didn't have a single shield between her and the world. Especially where her friends were concerned.

"Who? Tony...please." She reached him and lay an uncertain hand on his arm. Wide eyes searched his face.

"McGee." Tony had to clear his throat. "The Doughertys have him."

"No, they don't."

The answer was so quick and so matter of fact that for a moment Tony's hopes stirred. "What?"

Abby stared at him until the hope faded back. "The Doughertys can't have him, Tony. The Doughertys are insane cop killers who...who kill cops. So they don't have McGee."

Tony let out a breath and forced himself to meet her eyes. He watched the certainty on her face fade and shift, warping into realization. He watched her warm green eyes go cold with horror. It was his punishment, and he took it.

There was a ping in the distance, the elevator, but Tony didn't use it as a cop out. He didn't look away from Abby, from the pain he was doubly responsible for causing her.

Not until he heard Gibbs' quiet voice. "DiNozzo. Go have Ducky check on that leg."

Abby whirled around. "Gibbs, it isn't true, is it?"

Gibbs closed in on her with arms open, and he accepted it as he only ever accepted it from Abby as she plowed into him and buried her face against his shoulder.

Tony stood up and limped, slow and awkward, around the pair of them. He listened to the imperceptible murmur of Gibbs' voice soothing Abby as he made his way into the elevator.

* * *

He didn't realize that visiting Ducky was Punishment Part Two until he moved through the sliding doors and found himself staring at the splayed remains of Petty Officer Grant Tibbett. Victim number five of the Doughertys' killing spree. Three bullets in the gut, and they'd left him in a gas station bathroom to bleed out and die.

The brothers didn't kill to escape, or to clean up loose ends. They killed because they liked to. They _over_-killed because they liked to. They were the kind of killers who couldn't help but brag about their crimes, because they were proud. Hell, they probably thought it was funny.

It had turned Tony's guts cold to think of ending up in their hands, especially with a bum leg. He dreaded it because he had seen all their victims just like he was now seeing Tibbett - cut open on Ducky's table.

He moved in slowly, staring hard at Tibbett's dead face, almost daring it to turn into another face in his imagination.

_Damn it, Probie._

"Ahh, Anthony."

Tony jumped – he hadn't even noticed Ducky at a back table, writing labels for carefully ordered vials.

Ducky's calm eyes regarded him. "Any luck following the trail?"

Tony hesitated. Luck? "No."

"But I see you've brought me another patient." Ducky's gaze had dropped to his leg, jeans shredded and bloodstained down one leg. He stood. "What happened?"

"Shot. Grazed, really, but it's deep." Tony moved to an unclaimed table, careful not to look back at Tibbett.

"Well, I hate to say it under the circumstances, but...drop your pants, Tony." Ducky flashed one of those inscrutable smiles of his, moving to a cabinet to fetch supplies.

Tony sighed and unfastened his jeans. Luckily today was a boxers day. He peeled the jeans down carefully past his thigh and stepped out of them. He stared down at his leg for a minute, unsure whether to be glad or worried at the blood that covered his thigh and made a wide trail down his leg to stain his sock.

At least it was pretty bad. At least it was a real wound and not some tiny scratch.

He sat up on the table, bracing himself before twisting to hike his injured leg up onto the cold metal. "What do you mean, under the circumstances?" He tried to grin, tried to distract himself from the body one table over. "I like a good drop-your-pants joke as much as the next guy."

Ducky made his way over, frowning at Tony's leg and making a side-trip to grab a few more sterile rags. "Have you spoken to Abby since your return?"

"Just came from there." He remembered her saying she had news for them, and frowned. "She didn't get a chance to say anything. Something happen?"

Ducky grimaced. "It seems we've finally found a strong DNA link to your main suspects."

"The Doughertys? Good." Tony didn't plan on letting them live long enough to get to court, but more evidence never hurt. "What'd you find?"

"It was Abby who found it, examining the contents of the late Petty Officer Tibbett's stomach." Ducky dumped rags and a bottle on the table beside Tony, and went to the sink to pour a small amount of water into a glass. "Here." He handed the glass to Tony when he returned, picking up the small pill bottle and shaking a couple free. "For the pain."

Tony frowned, hearing the stalling in Ducky's voice. Coming from a man who was used to delivering grim news, stalling wasn't a good sign. "I can't dope myself up right now, Duck."

"They're just Tylenol, Anthony. I won't offer stronger unless I find you need stitches."

Tony took the pills and swallowed them down, setting the cup on the table and leaning back as Ducky got to work cleaning the blood from his leg. "So? What did Abby find in his stomach?"

Ducky worked studiously, not lifting his eyes. "Semen."

Tony's eyes shot over to Tibbett's corpse. "What?"

"I'm afraid so. While that's not instantly evidence of sexual assault, it was recent enough that it had to happen while he was in the hands of the Doughertys. And I suspect that even if he had not been beaten, there would still be that bruising around his mouth. According to Abby the DNA matches Clancy Dougherty, the youngest."

Tony stared at Tibbett, at the bruising and swelling in his face and the white of his mouth. The dull dead of him.

When he spoke his voice was strange and rough, even to his own ears. "Wrap me up fast. We've got to get back out there."

Ducky examined the gouge in his leg, now cleared of most of the blood that had dried around the wound. "This is quite a deep scrape, Tony. I'd feel better if you'd let--"

"The Doughertys have McGee, Ducky."

Ducky's face went slack for a moment. He straightened and looked at Tony.

Then he grabbed the bandages and started unrolling.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

"Damn it!"

Tony stopped in the doorway to the lab as Abby slammed her wireless mouse on the table hard enough to make him jump. He looked around, saw Ziva and Gibbs already there and not looking happy. "What is it?"

They looked back at him. Gibbs nodded at his leg. "You okay?"

"I'll manage." Tony limped over to them, squinting at the computer screen Abby was swearing at. "What's going on?"

"I was trying to triangulate Timmy's cell phone." Abby scowled and bent, pecking fast on the keyboard. "But it's right outside this building."

Tony frowned. "Must have left it in his backpack in the car." He stared at the screen, thinking. "He doesn't have any other gadgets we can trace?"

"No, everything he needs is on that stupid overpriced phone that he doesn't even _put_ in his _pocket_--"

"Abby." Gibbs stepped up behind her, hand on her shoulder.

She turned wide eyes to him, but looked at the screen again. "They might have guessed using Tibbett's cell is what let us track them, because it's been turned off since you guys ran into them earlier. I don't know if they picked up a new one or if they're just staying quiet right now. I don't know..."

"Hey. Abs. We're going to find them. You can count on that." Gibbs squeezed her arm. "Calm down and let's figure out something besides cell phones."

"We have to find them fast, Gibbs. Really fast."

"We're trying."

"No. You don't know." She hesitated, pale and unhappy. "He can't stay with them."

Tony realized what she was stalling over. In a way he was glad he heard it from Ducky instead of Abby. He moved around to her other side and spoke softly, though Gibbs was standing right there. "You haven't told them what you found."

She turned to him, cornered and wide-eyed. "How do you know what I...?"

"Ducky." Tony drew in a breath and turned to Gibbs before he could bark at them for an explanation. "There was semen in Tibbett's stomach, boss. Matches one of the Doughertys."

Ziva murmured a faint, vehement curse in one of the many languages she spoke that Tony didn't understand.

The lines around Gibbs' mouth tightened. "Okay." He reached into his pocket, came up empty-handed, and his scowl deepened. "Damn it, where the hell is my..." He stopped, eyes sharpening.

Tony breathed in.

Ziva's eyes widened. "You gave it to McGee. You could not make the menu screen come up. You told him to reboot it before you threw it against a wall."

All three of them turned to Abby.

"And I'll bet he didn't bother turning it off." She was already hunched, already typing. "Just when I was ready to give up on tracking him." She brought up a search screen and her hands were blurs as the field filled with numbers. She only hesitated for an instant before she pressed enter, and for a moment everyone seemed to hold their breath, watching the screen.

A chirp came from the speakers, and a map appeared on the screen with Gibbs' name over a blinking triangular icon.

Abby jumped. "Yes!"

Tony leaned in, squinting at the map. "They're still in Virginia. Looks like they only made it about thirty miles past that abandoned school we cornered them in."

"They're not moving." Gibbs started for the door. "Don't take your eyes off that screen, Abby. Call me...oh. Right. Call _Tony_ if they start moving again."

He didn't have to summon Ziva and Tony, because they were already right on his heels.

* * *

It was a twenty minute drive to the school the Doughertys had been cornered in, and then another thirty miles west following Abby's directions.

It was a long fucking trip, particularly when no one was speaking and Gibbs filled up the entire truck with his silent anger. Tony sat as unobtrusively as possible, keeping silent though it went against his big-mouthed instincts.

Gibbs blamed him and would blame him for whatever happened to McGee, and for no better reason than because Tony was there when it happened. It wasn't fair, maybe, but it was Gibbs. It was how he always operated.

The only reason Ziva wouldn't take any blame is because she had been with Gibbs himself, otherwise she would have been just as accountable. The three of them were partners. A team.

Tony, Tim, Ziva. DiNozzo, David, McGee. The three musketeers, Abby called them. They were responsible for each other in ways no one outside the team could understand. If Tony screwed something up and McGee was around, McGee took the rap right beside his partner. Same for Ziva. There was no other way to be a team under Gibbs.

Tony understood that. He liked it. There was security in it, in knowing that they would never leave him behind or let him fall, because they wouldn't let any of them fall. They had risked their careers and their freedom to help Ziva when she was being framed. They had worked themselves into the ground to prove Tony wasn't a murderer when it was him being framed. Of course they would get Tim back and run right over any obstacles in their path. He was one of them.

It was funny. When Tony was the one in trouble, sitting in an interrogation room answering for a murder he didn't commit, his FBI jailers thought he was taking the whole thing too lightly. Like he thought it was some big joke. He didn't. Tony was a cop before he was NCIS – he understood murder, and he understood that innocent people went to jail on a hell of a lot less evidence than they had against him.

But he also understood being on Gibbs' team. He knew while he sat there and joked his way through interrogation that his team had his back, and that was what kept him from worrying. Too much, anyway.

So taking the blame for McGee being taken by cop-killers? Yeah, maybe that was the downside of the way their team worked. But that was why Tony didn't protest too much - the downside of being on Gibbs' team was laughably small when compared to the upsides.

Besides, it really was his fault, wasn't it? He really had just stood there while they walked right out with his partner. Having no better alternatives was no excuse.

Hell, maybe McGee went in his place just to keep from being the one Gibbs was furious at right now. The three nutbag Doughertys would be easier to deal with than their boss when he was pissed.

Tony had a surprisingly clear mental image of McGee's face, though. A moment as perfectly frozen as any other meaningful event in his life. _"If you need a hostage you're taking me."_ Standing there with his gun over his head steaming from the shot that shocked the Doughertys into listening to him. So fucking calm, and when the hell had that happened? McGee was McGee - stammering, nervous Probie. Rookie computer nerd, flipping through guidelines and procedures locked into his brain before he so much as moved.

But that wasn't the case, was it? Not for a while now. Tony didn't bother noticing for more that a few seconds at a time. He credited McGee with small moments – like walking out of a hostage situation in a women's prison as collected as if the whole thing had been his idea – but didn't attribute them to any bigger picture.

McGee got on his nerves as much now as he did at the beginning, but for different reasons. Back then it was his hesitance that bothered Tony. His inexperience. Even his intelligence, mostly because Tony knew that it was his smarts with computers and his habit of thinking of things from a different direction than the experienced crime-fighters on the team that had made Gibbs give him a chance. And Tony didn't get where he came from.

Worse, Tony had no idea if he could trust the guy. He covered up real doubt with jokes and sarcasm and mockery of his easy-target Probie, but the fact was he trusted Gibbs and Kate to watch his back, and he didn't trust the nerd to fire a shot when he had to.

Lately? McGee's smarts could twist into arrogance way too easily, and now that he had found his voice on the team he cut too deep with it sometimes. He still got on Tony's nerves now and then. But everything else had changed, and Tony hadn't even noticed it happen. He had no idea when he stopped regarding McGee as the uncertain element and had started feeling comfortable with Tim watching his back. Shouldn't he know when something that important had changed?

They were friends now. Tony had no problem thinking of him as a friend. They were family, too, because Gibbs' teams had to be family.

Why the fuck had Tony not paid attention to any of that happening? Why didn't he realize it before he let McGee walk into the hands of insane gingers?

"Coming up on the signal," came Gibbs' grim voice from beside him.

Tony pushed his strange introspective mood away and tugged his Sig from its holster. In the back, Ziva did the same.

Gibbs' knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

* * *

"_Oi va'avoi li."_

Tony stared at the dark sedan for he didn't know how long. He heard Ziva's quiet swears, heard Gibbs on the phone summoning Ducky. He knew they had to look around, case the entire area. There were things to be done.

But he couldn't take his eyes off the car. Or, more accurately, the dark spatter splashed over the rear passenger window and up the roof of the car. The thick blood that had to come from a hell of a messy shot. A high shot, high enough that the spatter had to fall down to coat the roof of the car. Which meant...

Head shot.

Instant corpse.

Tony stirred at that thought. Instant corpse, but where? No body in sight. The trunk of the car, maybe? The sun was setting but he didn't need his flash light to see the pool of blood gathered by the rear wheel of the car. He crouched, regarding the puddle.

"This is where he fell." Ziva bent at his side, her dark eyes on the puddle.

Gibbs was a stone shadow behind them. "He?"

Ziva met Tony's eyes for a moment before she stood. "I mean, whoever was shot. They fell here."

"They're not here now," Gibbs said. "DiNozzo, find them. Ziva, check the car."

Tony stood without answering. The road on either side, for miles, was narrow and lined with forest. He tugged out his flash light and swept it around, frowning at the mess of footprints. Clusters going in every direction. All four of them had been standing out here. McGee, surrounded by Doughertys in this quiet nowhere off a rarely-used highway. Surrounded on all sides, sun sinking low, silence all around, and then the shot blasted out...

He drew in a harsh breath, trying to stay focused. A few of the prints jumped into one direction, a few scattered another way. Wasn't much sense to be made of it.

But. To the right, stains on scattered leaves. Blood. Behind that, gouges in the dirt. Someone was dragged.

He ducked under some low limbs and followed the path, and his heart sank only a few steps in. "Boss, I can hear water."

Gibbs was there in a minute, his flash light out and beaming a trail parallel to Tony's. "Got drag marks here."

"Here too." Tony frowned, following thick drops of blood along the trail of scattered leaves and dented dirt. "Two trails. Two bodies?"

Gibbs just grunted.

The sound of the water grew louder, and Tony followed his trail up to a dark edge and looked beyond.

A creek, nothing there weren't a million of in Virginia woods. But it was deep, and heavy rain the last few weeks meant it was running pretty fast. A body could get carried away by it, probably a good distance. Tony shined his flashlight along the edge of the water, and sucked in a breath as his flashlight beam was reflected back. He moved on stumbling feet and crouched.

"God _damn _it."

"What, Tony?"

His heart sank. His ribs seemed to tighten. "Your phone, boss." He reached out and grabbed a narrow twig. Gibbs' light was added to his, and he didn't have to say a word when Gibbs saw the thin black wallet beside the phone.

Tony slipped the end of the twig between the folds of the wallet and nudged it open. There was no denying that under the glistening thick red that coated it and the phone, the dull metal inside the wallet was Tim McGee's NCIS badge.

* * *

"How much longer?"

"All we're waiting on it the DNA profiles from the blood. It shouldn't be long."

Tony moved slowly into the lab, noting the silence in the air. "Where's the music?"

Abby shot him a pale, unhappy look and didn't bother answering.

Tony took a seat on the stool next to her, keenly aware that it was the seat usually occupied by McGee when he and Abby were double-teaming some nerd thing. "You have something to compare it to already?"

Abby nodded. "You weren't here for that delightfully fun afternoon when we all thought you had blown up in your car," she said, sending him a somewhat softer look. "But it took so long to luck into proof that the body wasn't you that...that, um, Director Shepard thought it might be a good idea to get all your DNA profiles into the system. And considering how often it's Gibbs' team who end up in the middle of danger, nobody thought that was a bad idea."

She pointed at one of her screens, where the familiar marked lines of a DNA profile were displayed. Her eyes went dewy and she reached up, brushing her fingertip over the lines of the profile. "Tony, meet Tim."

Tony's eyes went from the screen to her profile.

She glanced over and her pale cheeks dusted pink. She dropped her arm. "I just need a profile to compare to that, and then we'll know for sure that it wasn't him."

Unless it was him. But there was no point in deliberately sabotaging her frail optimism.

Tony just smiled. "So we just have to wait?"

Abby nodded.

The room fell silent.

Tony looked at the lines of Tim's DNA profile. He sighed and looked away. "You sure you don't want any music?"

"Depends. Is this him?" She stared hard at the screen, as if willing herself not to look at Tony, to see some truth in his face she didn't want to see.

Tony frowned. "It's his badge, it's Gibbs' phone." He hesitated. "But I don't know. They were left there by the creek for us to find. I don't know if it's a set-up, or if they just wanted us to know exactly where they dumped him. Knowing these guys it could be either."

"But why the two sets of blood? Why two different tracks?"

"They didn't walk out of those woods," Tony said quietly, looking at that DNA profile. McGee, reduced to a few green and red lines on a screen. "Some passing driver stopped, probably thought they needed help. I'm sure they killed whoever it was and took their car. Once we get an ID on the second body we can trace the car at least. Either you get a match on the blood, or we've got some Virginia LEOs searching along the creek." Tony had been surprised when Gibbs agreed to their doing it without NCIS supervision. But they had all figured news would come from Abby before it came from the cops.

"I'll get you their DNA profile if nothing else. Should be sometime in the hour." She nodded at another screen. "I can let you know when I have something."

He just smiled, faint and thin. "I'll wait with you."

She looked over at met his eyes. After a moment she squeezed his arm. "Thanks."

He patted her hand but stood up. Staring at computer screens was an Abby thing. He moved around behind the table and cast his eyes around the lab absently. He couldn't help a small smile at the photos on the wall – leftovers from their days reassigned away from Gibbs. He made a face absently at his own picture, grinning at the memory of her taking it. Below that was McGee, smiling blandly.

Tony smirked. He spoke loudly, still looking over the photos. "I can't believe I've never asked you this before."

"Asked me what?"

"What's Probie like in the sack?"

She whirled around, staring at him. "Tony!"

"What? It's a perfectly reasonable question."

She opened her mouth and shut it again, amusement warring with the need to be serious.

He sent her a meaningful look. "I guess we could wait in silence."

She considered that. "Well."

"You have to tell me, Abs. Otherwise I'm going to go on thinking you dumped him because he was as nervous in bed as he was in the field."

"Hey!" She stood up at that, arms folding across her chest. "Just maybe, DiNozzo, he was as capable in bed as he is on a computer."

"Uh uh." Tony flashed her a smirking, dubious look. "I've seen those dreamy looks you give him when he gets into hacker mode. If he did that to you in the sack you wouldn't have dumped him."

She smiled, but it faded as she made her way to him and her gaze caught on that wall of pictures. "You're so sure I dumped him."

"I'm sure he didn't dump you."

Abby didn't argue that. "It was mutual."

"Yeah?"

She glanced at him and rolled her eyes at the expression on his face. "I'm serious. It was all very adult. We knew we wanted different things, that's all."

"Meaning he wanted you and you wanted out?"

"Stop that, Tony. It wasn't like that at all." She shrugged. "Timmy's a sweet guy who wants to...to be needed. And I don't want to need anyone. But if anyone ever made me doubt myself for that decision, it was Timmy."

"Mmm. Which doesn't answer the central question, of course."

"What central...?" She remembered and shook her head at him. "You're disgusting, Tony."

"You love it."

"You wish."

Tony grinned. "You're evading, Abs. Come on. One word, just give me a one word summary of Probalot in bed. Better, let me guess! Quick. Fumbling. Apologetic? Scared shitless?"

Abby slapped his arm, but hesitated and tilted her head to the side, her eyes going distant. "One word, huh?"

Tony's eyebrows shot up. He waited.

She smiled suddenly, slow and nostalgic. "_Intense._"

Tony blinked. "You're kidding."

"Oh no. You've seen how focused he can get, right? Mostly staring at computers, solving some problem. But he can turn that focus on to other things."

Tony thought about that.

Abby's slow smile grew into a grin. "I'm not into pity sex, Tony. I wouldn't have been with him if I didn't want to be. And that's the last I'm going to say about it."

She was smiling, sincerely, so he figured his job was done either way. He waved a hand in the air dismissively. "I suppose there are about a thousand things less disturbing we could be talking about right now anyway."

"Mmm hmm. You brought it up, remember."

Tony grinned. "I'll probably bring it up again. I'm like that."

Abby's smile faded. She studied Tony for a moment, then moved around him back to the table to check out her humming computers. "Your turn, DiNozzo."

"My turn what?"

She hesitated. She typed a few things into one of her keyboards and then sighed. Her hands dropped and she turned back to Tony, levelling him with a serious gaze. "What do you think of him?"

"In bed? Well, there was that one night, but we were both so drunk..."

She let out a disapproving breath, staring hard at him. Then she thought about it and her mouth quirked up. "You know, if I thought there was really a story there I'd let you keep talking."

Tony laughed. "Naughty, Miss Sciuto!"

Abby shrugged. "An entire industry is built up around entertaining men with girl-on-girl action. You really think it doesn't turn our crank to think of a couple of hot guys getting it on?" She held up a hand fast. "Don't answer that, or I'll never get back on topic."

"The topic isn't girl-on-girl? Because the minute those words are spoken I find it hard to focus on anything else."

Abby's teeth dug into her lip as she regarded him. "What do you think of him? Timmy. As a...a person."

Tony shrugged. "I'm a guy, Abs. If it's not obvious how I feel about someone then I must not feel anything at all."

"I'm serious, Tony."

He studied her for a moment. "Why are you serious? If you didn't pick up on the whole trying-to-lighten-the-mood vibe I've been going for this whole time..."

"I picked up on it. I just can't..." She sighed and left the computers behind, grabbing Bert the Hippo as she went and sitting with a huff of breath at her back table. "Let me ask you something – seriously, okay? It's not lightening the mood, but it's not blood and brain matter either."

Tony sighed, but nodded. "Go for it."

She hugged Bert hard enough that he interrupted the silence, but they were both so used to random bursts of stuffed-animal flatulence that they hardly noticed. "Why didn't Tim tell you guys about his book?"

It wasn't a question Tony had been expecting, but he shrugged easily enough. "He said we would've made fun of him."

She studied him from over the ears of her hippo. "He's been writing for years, you know that? He's got a dozen half-started novels, a couple of manuscripts that never sold. He's wanted to be a writer since high school. Do you have any idea how exciting it is for a guy who's been trying that hard to find out he's actually getting published? And that publisher of his, she's big news. He got a kick-ass advance, a three-book contract. That is huge, Tony. That's the kind of news you stop strangers on the street to tell them. He went through editing and publishing, a few tour dates locally...and then he was a best-seller. For _weeks_, in the New York Times and everything. That's _epic_. That doesn't happen to people, Tony."

Tony had an idea where this was going, and it made his eyes leave her and wander back to the outer lab. "And? He didn't tell us about it."

"Exactly. He told me. He told Sarah and his parents and some old school friends. This huge thing happened to him that doesn't happen to normal people – it just doesn't – and he couldn't tell the closest people to him."

Tony frowned. "He didn't tell us because he wrote about us without our permission. That's what he didn't want us to know."

She set Bert aside, staring hard at Tony. "You did read that book, didn't you?"

"Most of it."

"No, you scanned it for Tommy's name and stored up everything he wrote about the guy as if he was talking about you."

"He _was_ talking about me!"

"No, he was _basing_ on you. It's not the same, Tony. Tommy's got a great relationship with his parents, did you read that?"

Tony drew back, his frown becoming suddenly serious. There weren't a lot of topics that were off-limits for Tony, but she was threatening one. "Abby."

"Oh, stop it. I'm just saying. Officer Lisa keeps a journal with the names of all the people she's killed. Agent McGregor is claustrophobic. These people aren't us. Yeah, they're based on us, and yeah, he could have gotten a little more creative with the names. But they're not us."

"Semantics, Abs."

"I value my privacy as much as any of you, and I managed to realize that Amy wasn't me. Tim wasn't ashamed of his book. He wasn't worried you'd hate it, or you'd be ticked off about the characters. He didn't tell you about it because it was a great thing he dreamed about for years, and he didn't want you to ruin it for him." She stood up suddenly and moved to Tony, putting her hands on his arms and meeting his eyes intently. "Don't you realize what I'm saying here? Tim _knows_ you don't like him. Knows it like it's fact. He knows you'll watch his back because you're a team, but he's odd-man-out in Gibbs' little group because he comes from a different world and you guys..." She sighed. "You don't get it. He knows...it's done."

Tony hesitated. "He knows what's done?"

"It's done!" She pushed past him and out the door, racing to her computer to bring up something she must have seen flashing on the screen.

Tony followed her out more slowly, tossing her words around in his head for a moment before giving up. Whatever McGee might have admitted to her in some insecure mood wasn't worth worrying about. He liked McGee, and McGee knew it. Like Tony said before, it was obvious. He was a guy, he wasn't subtle about his feelings.

Though it was kind of surprising, in hindsight, that he'd kept a best-selling novel quiet from the people he spent ten- and twelve-hour days with.

"Tony!"

Her voice was a sudden sharp reminder that it didn't matter what McGee thought right then – he was missing, he was maybe dead, and it was Tony's fault.

He moved to her side fast and stared at more charts, more DNA profiles. "Well?"

"Get Gibbs down here."

"Abby..."

She turned to him, a smile blasting across her face that he couldn't possibly mistake. "Get Gibbs."

* * *

"--and this is McGee." Abby beamed and stepped back from the screen, letting them look.

Gibbs squinted the way he always did when regarding some computer screen flashing evidence he wasn't expected to understand. But it was obvious – even to Tony – that the three profiles were all different.

"So whoever's blood is all over that car..."

"It isn't Timmy." She grinned. "And whoever left the second blood trail, that isn't him either."

Gibbs let out a breath, his shoulders releasing just a little of the tension that had clogged him up since the moment Tony told him that McGee was gone. "Okay. Okay, Abby. Thanks. You two, we've got some work--"

"Gibbs."

He turned back to Abby.

She straightened proudly. "Isn't there _always_ more?"

It was a sign of his relief that Gibbs quirked the smallest of smiles. "What else have you got, Abs?"

"Thought you'd never ask. I'm running the second profile through CODIS, for all the good that will do – and unless our mystery driver with the missing car had a criminal record, it won't do any good at all. But! The first profile, the blood all over that car, I don't even have to put through the system."

"Why not?"

Right after he asked the question, Gibbs' patient smile faded.

Ziva spoke, suddenly grim. "Because you already have it."

Tony frowned at her, then sucked in a breath when he realized.

"Exactly. Already had it in my computer, and I already had a fresh version pulled up thanks to Petty Officer Tibbett. Your brains belong to Clancy Dougherty, all-around bastard and top three on the we're-not-sorry-he's-dead list."

Tony didn't even have to look at Gibbs to confirm that he wasn't nearly as happy with Abby's news as she was. "She didn't tell me that before I called you down, boss."

Abby shot Tony a smile. "I don't like blowing my whole wad at once. So to speak." Her smile faded a moment later. She looked from Tony's frown to Ziva's pale face and ended with Gibbs. "This isn't good news? One of them is dead!"

Gibbs glanced at her, but turned to Ziva and Tony. "They're brothers and they're close. Whatever happened by that car, I doubt one of the other Doughertys suddenly decided to kill the youngest."

Tony nodded. "Meaning not only is McGee still with them..."

Ziva finished. "They've now got a brother to avenge. And these men are psychotic enough without motivation."

Abby's smile had vanished, her eyes growing wide with realization.

Gibbs turned on his heel and started for the elevator. "What have we got to go on here? DiNozzo."

Tony was on his heel in a flash. "I'll go through their histories again and find out if they ever even talked to anyone in Virginia they might go to for help now."

"Ziva."

"I can monitor the morning's police reports for any missing persons called in on drivers who didn't return home last night."

They piled into the elevator, new tension thrumming what should have been a moment of relief. Tony grimaced at the sight of Abby left behind in the lab, wilting back against the table in stricken silence as the elevator doors closed them away from her.


	3. Chapter 3

_Just wanted to say a quick thanks for the nice reviews. I'm glad you guys are enjoying this so far. :-) _

* * *

Tony noticed when the rest of the usual daytime shift started filling the squad room around them. He hadn't moved from his computer in hours, following missing-persons reports and researching the Doughertys' past for accomplices or old friends who might be in the area.

It was a frustrating search. The Dougherty brothers grew up in Maryland. There were any number of people they might know who wouldn't be found in any police reports of trial testimony. In Virginia, following the course they were on when the car was ditched, there wasn't a single hit off known accomplices. So it was Tony's job to research friends and relatives from the Maryland lists and see if any of them had relocated to Virginia.

The bad thing about the search was that he knew in his gut that it wouldn't get them anywhere.

Ziva had abandoned the effort hours ago to join the local law by the creek in Virginia hunting for bodies. Gibbs had been up and down all night, using MTAC to follow the search for bodies, and trekking more than once up the stairs to the Director's office.

Tony didn't envy Vance the meetings – hopefully the Director knew Gibbs well enough by now that he didn't bother talking to him about anything but his missing agent. Vance had NCIS and all its duties and priorities; Gibbs had his team. Nothing took priority over his team.

It was coming up on sixteen hours that McGee had been in the hands of those psychos. Too long. Every hour sat heavy on Tony; every hour brought them closer to that twenty-four-hour line every cop dreaded. Basic law of missing person's cases - either you found them fast, or you found them dead.

So it was with tired, almost cynical interest that Tony watched the arrival of the usual staff into the squad room. Morning greetings and smiles as the day shift trickled in were all cut off fast by the news that an agent was in danger, and Tony could hear the low murmurs of gossip-circles forming as more and more people showed up and got wind of the situation.

McGee was one of them, after all. Nobody in NCIS - nobody in law enforcement period – ever took it lightly when one of their own was threatened. And on top of that, McGee had friends there. Some good friends, a lot of nodding acquaintances. A shitload of agents who used him like tech support when their computers started acting up.

They knew him as that guy – the nerd, the whiz-kid computer geek. Hell, most people around there, the ones with limited contact with McGee, probably didn't even think of him as an actual field agent. They thought of him as IT-guy, and that made his kidnapping by violent cop-killers even harder to swallow.

If Abby was right and McGee seriously thought he was the black sheep nerd of a macho family, Tony could see where he got the idea from. Yeah, he came from a different world than most of the agents there. Different than all the agents on Gibbs' team, for sure.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? He was different from Tony and Ziva and Gibbs himself, but the three of them were the only ones in that whole building who realized that he was more than Computer Guy. They were the only ones who knew for an unshakeable fact that McGee wasn't a good field agent, he was a god damned _good_ field agent.

Now, if Abby was right about McGee thinking nobody _liked_ him because of that whole black-sheep nerd thing, he really should have been there that morning to watch all the faces fall and hear all the worried murmurs and the grim shock that filled the air in the squad room.

He'd've felt pretty frigging stupid then.

"Jethro!"

Tony's eyes jerked from the computer screen at the sharp, sudden voice. He stood reflexively, spotting Abby as she sped towards him from the elevator.

"Tony, actually. But lots of people make that--"

"Jethro, Tony!" There was distress in her face, under the exhaustion of a sleepless night.

Tony blinked, looking at Gibbs' desk. "I think he's up with-"

"Not _Gibbs_. Jethro!"

A moment later Tony's own sleep-deprived brain clicked. "McGee's dog."

"He's all alone! He hasn't been fed or walked, and dogs are really sensitive about trouble, Tony. He has to know something's wrong. He's got to be so upset!" She was staring at him like he had some answer.

Tony hesitated. "What exactly am I supposed to say here?"

"Nothing! You're supposed to go get him."

He sat behind his desk again. "If you think Gibbs is going to let me leave here and go dog-sitting, you don't know the boss nearly as well as I--"

"DiNozzo."

He stood again instantly, looking to the staircase. "Boss?"

"Go to McGee's place. Feed the dog." Somehow Gibbs didn't show the effects of a long night. The clothes he wore were the same he'd worn the day before, but not a hair was out of place, and he looked as fresh as if it were any normal morning. "Pick us up some coffee on the way back – we're going to that creek and we're not leaving until we've got two guests for Ducky's morgue."

Abby moved to the base of the staircase to meet him. "Gibbs." She grabbed his arms, her face pleading.

Gibbs sighed. "Bring the damn dog back with you."

* * *

Tony could have asked for a key – Abby had one, he knew – but his lock-picking skills didn't get enough of a workout. Showing off wasn't something Tony did to impress people. It was something Tony just _did_. Even all by himself.

But McGee's lock was proving tricky, and Tony's plan to dazzle himself with his lightning-fast speed was dying fast. "When did you get so paranoid, Pro--"

A sudden, fierce sound cut Tony off and nearly made him jump away from the door. Paws thudded against the wood and damn, Jethro had one fierce growl.

"Jesus, dog. Relax. I'm not even inside yet." He stooped and slipped his tools back into knob, and the growls changed to barks. "Shut _up_, you stupid mutt."

He barely heard the click of the locks tumbling open over the barking. He straightened and pushed the door open a crack, peering in. Should have made Abby come, that damned dog didn't know Tony.

He pushed the door open, and Jethro – huge German Shephard, trained attack dog, and even bigger than Tony remembered – backed up, ears flat and teeth showing.

"Hey. Um. Good boy. Jethro." Tony looked behind him fast to make sure no one was in the corridor witnessing his shame. "To think how much crap I gave McGee about being scared of you. Look, man, I'm here to toss some kibble in your bowl and take you back to Abby. Abby?" He said again hopefully. "You remember her?"

Jethro didn't growl, at least, but his tail was tucked low and Tony thought he remembered that being a bad sign with dogs.

"Um." He hesitated, debating pulling his gun. Another thought occurred to him and he almost laughed at himself, but went with the instinct. Tugging his wallet from his pocket he stretched it through the crack in the door, badge flashing. "NCIS, mutt. I'm a good guy."

Jethro's head tilted, his lip curling back over his giant fangs, but he still seemed uncertain.

Tony pushed inside slowly, and shut the door reluctantly behind him. He and the dog regarded each other for a tense moment.

"So. You hungry? Want dinner? Or breakfast, or whatever?"

_Dinner _seemed to be the code word, because Jethro suddenly straightened and cocked his head, and his tail gave a little waggle back and forth. But his big brown dog eyes went from Tony back to the door, and he made an unsure noise.

Tony sighed and moved in, figuring he was safe enough now. He headed for the McKitchen. "Yeah, I know I'm not the guy you want, mutt, but I'm gonna have to do until we get him back."

Probie kept his kitchen as organized as his desk at work, it seemed. Tony found the dog food easily enough, in a huge tupperware thing under the sink. Even had 'Jethro' written on a label on the front. Tony shook his head with a faint smile as he poured a heaping pile of kibble into an empty metal bowl on the kitchen floor.

Jethro's face was buried in it before Tony was even done pouring.

Tony set the container on the counter, figuring he ought to take it with him. "Not that I expect you to be hanging around the Navy Yard for more than a day," he said to the dog, who didn't seem to hear him over disconcertingly loud inhalations of food.

Tony left him to it, moving out of the kitchen and looking around. The place was the same nerd haven it had been the first time Tony saw it. Bookcases stuffed with things Tony would never read and wouldn't understand if he did. McGee's desk with the massive computer flatscreen, shelves full of old computer towers.

McGee had left the apartment early yesterday morning. Gibbs' phone call about a lead on the Doughertys had dragged Tony's lazy ass out of bed before the sun, and McGee had been at the Navy Yard when Tony arrived.

Tony had left his own apartment still dripping from a quick shower, and even then he was pushing it, risking Gibbs' wrath.

"What about you, Probie? What were you up to?" He trailed his hand over the bookshelves as he wandered back to McGee's bedroom.

It wasn't his first time in there – he remembered distinctly marching his way in and rummaging McGee's closet, trying to cheer his Probie up after his first shooting went bad. But either things had changed or he hadn't noticed more than the wardrobe his first time in.

"Nice," he couldn't help but compliment, sliding a finger along the edge of the large flat-panel hanging up on the wall. Below it was a collection of DVDs that Tony's own collection would put to shame, but at least the kid was doing something besides playing video games 24-7.

The bed was unmade and the closet doors hung open, so it looked like McGee had gotten the call while sleeping and jetted out of there as fast as Tony did.

Tony wandered back, glancing into the bathroom and sighing at the white walls and lack of decoration. Same all over the apartment. Of course, judging by the shower curtain lined with weedy little monkeys, maybe that was for the best. The only thing worse than a sterile apartment was a badly decorated one, and that shower curtain didn't show any kind of taste.

Oh, but wait. Not everything was beyond hope in that apartment – the wardrobe Tony had insulted last time he was there had definitely changed. McGee's book-writing money didn't show in many places in his apartment, but it showed in the collection of leather jackets, the heavy rich fabrics and tailored cuts of new suits. Armani, Joseph Abboud. Hugo Boss, which...

"_Nice_, Probie." Tony fingered the lapel, studying the cut. McGee'd certainly never worn that one to work.

Diesel jeans, Italian shoes. Even a tux.

Tony whistled, but he didn't smile until he found a few bland, washed-out suits still tucked away at the back of the closet. Probie's old wardrobe, or some of it. Straight from the Sears catalogue. He fingered one stiff suit sleeve, and for some reason he felt relieved.

He turned and regarded the white walls of the bedroom. He'd have to talk to McGee about the glories of color. Some dark paint on the walls in the bedroom, a few dim yellow-bulb lamps, and it'd be an instant love nest despite the geek trophies on every available space in the front of the apartment.

He certainly couldn't imagine Abby Sciuto of all people getting down and dirty in this white-walled box of bland.

Almost instantly he flashed on his conversation with Abby the night before. Her distant look and dreamy voice, describing McGee in the sack. _"Intense,"_ she'd sighed out.

Tony found his eyes going to that low bed with its mussed sheets. Intense. His little Probie. He couldn't even imagine it.

He turned suddenly, a little too close to imagining it for his own piece of mind. He looked at the TV, the stack of movies. He grinned. "Okay, Probie. Intense or not, nerd or not, you're still a guy. Where do you put your _other_ videos?"

He told himself as he crouched to rummage through the video collection that he wouldn't tease McGee for whatever he found – he did have a sense of boundaries. He understood the idea of privacy, anyway, even if he didn't actively support it.

All the tapes at the top were normal enough – even a few good movies that Tony approved of mixed in with the titles he'd never heard of. Nothing embarrassing, which was a surprise.

But there was a drawer, and Tony just knew Probie was the kind of guy who stashed his _other_ videos, even if the hiding place was an easily found token spot. Funny how even guys who lived alone always seemed to tuck their special collections away.

Sure enough. Tony pulled out a DVD from inside the drawer and grinned at the familiar cheap photoshop work mixing a dozen pairs of tits and women moaning in the kind of pleasure only porn-stars showed.

Good for his Probie – as repressed as that kid was there was a chance he actually didn't watch porn, and that would have been a severe disappointment to Mentor DiNozzo. Guys were guys. Porn was a staple.

Another DVD revealed the same kind of generic porn cover, and Tony made a mental note to ask Abby if his Probie had any kind of kinks. Oh, but wait. A few cases at the bottom were laying face-down. That was promising. One extra feeble step to hide them from prying eyes.

Tony grabbed the top one and flipped it over, and....

Well.

Well. He wasn't sure how surprised he was, really. He tilted his head and studied the guys on the cover. Same kind of collage as the others, but with dicks instead of tits.

Huh.

The guys on the cover seemed to be having fun, at least. But why were they having fun in Probie's bedroom drawer, under the giant flat-panel TV that looked down on his mussed-up bed? And did they count as a kink, or a lifestyle?

Tony debated for a quiet moment and decided that yeah, he was surprised.

He slipped the DVDs into the drawer and straightened, backing up to sit on the bed and consider that giant TV.

McGee was a quiet, anti-macho nerd. Of course Tony had been making gay jokes about him from the day they first met. McGee never seemed to respond to those jokes any more or less than he responded to any others. Was he secretly amused by it? Did he think of Tony as some homophobic jerk?

Nah. And anyway, Tony wasn't. Would've been hypocritical, though Tony had been back on the force the last time he was with a guy. Just too much trouble, too much fear of being found out. Too much paranoia. It wasn't worth it, not when Tony enjoyed women just as much.

Anyway, Abby Sciuto would never consent to being a beard, and McGee wasn't a good liar. So they had really gone out and McGee had really cared way too much about her too fast for her liking. So...bisexual? Or just _sexual,_ the way Tony tended to think of himself?

God, a day ago Tony would have considered him entirely _asexual_ and been content.

The clatter of nails on the hard floor distracted Tony from thoughts he should not ever have been having, ever, and he looked at the doorway.

Jethro looked back at him, and maybe Tony was projecting but the dog looked reproachful.

He stood up fast. "What? You done pigging out already?"

Jethro regarded him. Big brown serious doggy eyes.

Tony looked at the TV and the drawer of videos and looked away again fast. "Let's just get out of here and go corpse-hunting." He moved past Jethro, who at least wasn't actively growling at him anymore. "You got a leash around here somewhere?"

Of course, hanging off a hook right by the door. That was his organized Probie all over.

Tony grabbed the leash and Jethro trotted over and sat, waiting. Obedient mutt, anyway. Maybe McGee took time out to do a little training. When he took a break from all the gay porn he watched on his giant TV.

Tony rolled his eyes at himself. "You know, my mom always warned me not to spy on people if I wasn't ready for what I'd find out. Probably should have listened to her." He sent one last look back at the bedroom door and sighed. He leaned down to clip the leash onto Jethro's collar.

* * *

When they arrived back at NCIS Abby wasn't waiting for Jethro with her own tail wagging, the way he figured she would be. In fact, no one was up in the squad room at all.

He shot Jethro a look and hoisted the container of food higher under his arm and went right back into elevator and down.

When the doors opened into the lab Jethro bounded out without waiting for Tony. He raced ahead, past humming computers to the back wall, where Abby...completed ignored him.

Tony moved in behind the dog. Apprehension stirred when he saw Gibbs and Ziva flanking Abby, and all of them staring at a computer monitor as if it were a corpse.

"What's going on?" he asked carefully, setting Jethro's kibble on the table as he approached them.

"DiNozzo, where the _hell_ have you been?" Gibbs didn't look at him, or wait for an answer. "Play it again, Abby."

"Gibbs..."

"Play it. Now."

Abby – the only one who looked away from that computer – glanced back at Tony. His stomach clenched at how pale she was. She turned back to the computer and clicked the mouse.

"_--know who you are, Dougherty."_ It was Gibbs' own voice, coming in mid-sentence.

Thin, but close. Telephone. Phone call.

Shit. Tony had been gone too long.

"_I had a feeling you would." _

Tony's spine stiffened as he recognized Colin Dougherty's voice.

"_I guess you know by now that your man isn't dead. You NCIS types are too smart for your own good."_

"_Is this supposed to be a ransom call, then?" _

Colin sounded amused. _"I could pretend, but I think we both know I'm not going to leave the hero here alive. No, this is a warning. You keep coming after us, and his won't be the only funeral you'll be going to. Next we'll go after that pretty-boy smartass who blocked our way to begin with. Then...oh, what is her name, Gibbs? That hot little thing working for you? I can think of a dozen different ways I could tear her apart."_

Tony couldn't help looking over at Ziva, couldn't help but think that if it were Kate, she'd be red-faced and fuming. Ziva only regarded the computer with the same neutral, almost wry gaze she would have levelled on the man himself.

Tony had to admit that he respected that about her, respected it a lot. She had the kind of strength and confidence in herself that didn't need to be loud and angry and insulted. She would just wait for her chance to do the tearing apart next time she was face to face with Dougherty.

"_You really think you're going to get that chance? You're a dead man, Dougherty. You and your brothers. Or should I say brother." _Gibbs' voice through the monitor was clenched but calm, even as Gibbs in person was glaring at the computer like he wanted to break someone.

There was a pause, a shuffling of movement. The display on the monitor, a wave track of the recording of the phone call, went to almost a straight line for a few long moments. During that silence, Abby bent down and hugged Jethro tightly, fingers buried in his fur. Gibbs and Ziva only grew more stiff.

Tony swallowed but waited. And then--

"_Boss?"_ McGee, but sounding strange. His voice was high, quick and staccato. Panic, Tony thought instantly. Fear and pain. Too panicked. Too strange.

There was a faint woof by Tony's knees. Jethro's ears perked and his head lifted, eyes scanning the room in confusion.

Abby just curled her fingers tighter in his fur. Tony absently reached out and lay a hand on the dog's head.

Gibbs' voice was rough. _"McGee."_

"_Boss, tell Tony I'm sorry for what happened. Not his fault. And tell...tell Watson sorry. About the bats. Sorry, boss, they won't..."_ Sudden movement cut him off, way too soon. There was a sudden, sharp sound. The dull thud of a blow hitting flesh, hard.

"_McGee!" _

"_Now, what were you saying about my brother, Gibbs?" _

The pause that followed was more than a few tense seconds, and Tony could just picture Gibbs sitting there, jaw clenched hard, fighting from saying exactly what he wanted to say about the dead Dougherty. Fighting for McGee's sake.

"_What do you want, Dougherty?" _

"_I want you to sit on your ass for the next week, Gibbs. Do that and I'll kill him nice and fast. He won't feel anything. Much." _

"_And if I don't?"_

Tony winced – Gibbs should have known better than to give him an opening.

Sure enough a moment later there was a hoarse, distant sound. A cry, a scream, muffled through a covered mouth.

"_I'll send him back to you through US mail, day by day as I cut the pieces off. That what you want, Gibbs?"_ Behind the voice the screaming went on. _"I bet if we bandage him up good enough we can keep him alive a long time. What do you think? Maybe we'll start with his hand – Feddie can't carry a gun without his hand, can he?"_

"_You do that and you're seeing to it I never leave you alone. Not while you're still alive." _

The screaming cut off. Dougherty's voice went lower. _"You want us to treat him nice instead? We can do that, Gibbs. We can treat him _real _nice. Show him a real good time. Just got to get him over his shyness." _

Tony felt his spine go straight. He couldn't help but think of Tibbett in Ducky's morgue, bruises around his mouth, DNA in his stomach. He swallowed and stared at the computer screen.

Gibbs' voice was a rumble, so low it was almost vibration. _"The world isn't big enough for you to hide in, Dougherty." _

"_I won't be hiding, because you're not going to be looking for me. Not unless you want to see your man here die the hardest death you ever even heard of." _

When the click came, ending the call, and the line on the wave track on Abby's computer went flat again, Tony sagged back against the wall and stared from the screen to Gibbs.

One of the many good things about his boss: Gibbs got pissed off. Sure he got pissed off at his team, made their lives hell when they screwed up. He got pissed off at just about everything. But his anger had levels, and he knew when to just be a prick and when to unleash the unholy temper.

Right then, Gibbs was pissed. Gibbs was vein-throbbing, spine-cracking, Wrath of God_ pissed_.

"Play it again, Abby." Gibbs' fury could be heard by the very softness of his voice. A quiet Gibbs was a dangerous Gibbs.

"No! I can't listen to that again!"

"Abby."

She looked up, eyes wet and bright and full of pain. But even Abby, even scared and vulnerable Abby, wasn't enough to overpower Pissed Gibbs. She reached for the mouse again.

This time Gibbs held out a hand for her to stop it after McGee spoke the few words they let him get out.

"_Boss, tell Tony I'm sorry for what happened. Not his fault. And tell...tell Watson sorry. About the bats. Sorry, boss, they won't..."_

Gibbs turned to Tony and Ziva. "What's he talking about?"

"He's babbling. He's scared." Ziva frowned at the computer.

Tony shook his head instantly, his thoughts colliding around in dangerous ways. He wasn't sure of a lot of things right then, but he was sure about his Probie. "He doesn't babble. Not like that."

"This is McGee we're talking about, Tony."

"Exactly." Tony moved in, staring at the screen as if he could see the words themselves, not just the up and down lines showing volume and pitch. "He _rambles_, maybe, but it's always got a point. He wouldn't say anything unless it makes some kind of sense."

"Well, there's no Watson around here and last I checked there were no bats, so you want to tell me what he's talking about?"

Tony frowned, eyes following the jump in lines when the screaming would start a minute further into the recording. "Maybe it's a refernce to something? Someone he knows outside of here? Or someone to do with the case. A witness?"

Gibbs glared at him, but gestured tersely. "Go through the records. Ziva, go through recent cases, see if we have any--"

"Bats!"

Gibbs glowered at Abby, but hesitated. Even Tony recognized the look on her face. Like a lightbulb going off in her brain.

She wheeled suddenly, tearing over to the computer on the front table. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "Gibbs, bats!"

"I heard you. What about them?"

Abby frowned at the screen and tapped a few more keys into the keyboard.

Tony moved at the same time as Gibbs, followed only half a step later by Ziva. They crowded around the table behind Abby.

On screen the face of a kid appeared. A girl, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, smiling at the camera with a truly awful junior-high-picture-day backdrop behind her. Beautiful girl – she'd break hearts in six or seven more years. Long dark hair, wide, blue, and...strangely _blank_ eyes. Familiar eyes.

Gibbs squinted at the screen. "Who is that?"

Abby grinned tightly. "Sandy _Watson_."

"Watson." Gibbs said the name again, this time thoughtful.

"Picture her four years younger, with a missing mother and a dirtbag dad being held hostage by his computer."

Tony's mind clicked back. "Captain Watson! Right."

"His computer held him hostage?" Ziva stared at the girl on the screen.

"He wanted us to think so." Gibbs grimaced. "You still talk to his daughter?"

"Of course I do! She's awesome!"

"Awesome," Gibbs repeated in that dry tone he got when he was just about to go off on a wayward agent. Wasn't very often at all that Abby was on the receiving end of that tone. "What the hell does any of this have to do with anything?"

Abby spoke fast. "Something she said when she was in autopsy with us. She told us – me and Timmy and Kate – that her mom called her a bat, or part bat, or something, and we talked about how we both like bats. Right before we got her to listen to those tapes of her mom's kidnapper."

Ziva spoke with the slight hesitation she seemed unable to hide when they talked about things that happened before she joined the team. "Why would such a small thing from so long ago be important enough for McGee to think of while being held prisoner? Would he even remember a child's words from years ago?"

Abby nodded earnestly. "That was the case that got him promoted. It got him assigned to Gibbs. He remembers almost everything about it. And anyway, when I hear from Sandy I usually let him know. And sometimes me and him will talk about what happened. I sent her a necklace for her tenth birthday, this kick ass little stone bat on--"

"Will somebody please get to a god damned point here?"

Abby's mouth clamped shut. Her and Ziva both turned oddly wide eyes to Tony.

And, okay, maybe he had been a bit sharp. But Jesus, McGee's screams were practically still echoing around the room.

He had to look away from Abby's wounded eyes.

But she reached out and touched his arm for just an instant, and he knew he was forgiven. "Okay, the point is we were having this talk about bats while she was listening to recordings for clues to help find her mom."

And then it made sense, and Tony knew he was right not to doubt McGee's babbling. "It _is_ a message, I knew it. He's telling us to listen harder."

Gibbs was already moving back to the other computer. "There's something there that'll give us some clue where he is. Abby."

She followed him, and Tony and Ziva were right on her heels. "I'm not Sandy, Gibbs, I can't pick out sounds like she could."

"Fine, get her in here."

"She lives in California. Her mom moved them out there after her dad's trial."

Gibbs faced her, eyes glinting. "Then you're what we've got. Play the damned recording again."

Abby hesitated.

Tony moved up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "McGee gave us the clue, Abs. He wants us to find him."

She blinked bright eyes and drew in a breath. "Okay. Right." Another click of the mouse, and there was Gibbs' voice in mid-sentence again.

"Can you get rid of the voices?" Gibbs asked instantly, staring at the sound waves tracking on the bar.

"Hang on..." Abby pushed a few keys and another track appeared, mostly a straight line. The smug voice of Colin Dougherty cut off, leaving the hum of air and nothing else.

"Make it louder, Abs."

Another keystroke and the hum grew loud, and louder still. The empty hum of air, and nothing.

"Damn it..." Gibbs scowled at the computer.

Tony frowned and leaned in, listening as close as he could.

There just wasn't anything there.

"Sandy could pick out hertz, Gibbs. It wasn't a matter of just listening hard, she knew exactly which frequency to play so we could hear what she did. I can't...I'm not that good."

"Wait." Tony stopped listening and started looking at the mostly still wave on the recording track. "Can it get louder?"

Abby frowned, but the hum filled the air a moment later, and the shuffling of movement became more audible. Still too faint, but...

Tony frowned. "Start it from the beginning?"

Abby glanced at Gibbs for an okay and started the track over. She looked at Tony expectantly.

"What, DiNozzo?" Gibbs barked after another moment.

"I don't...." Tony stuck his finger out, tapping over the barely moving line. There were barely noticeable peaks, but something about them made him hesitate. "There's like a rhythm here. You see it? This thing can't pick up heartbeats, could it?"

"Over the phone? I doubt it." Abby stared at the line. "What do you think..."

"Whatever it is it's gotta be low. Can you do the hertz thing and single it out?"

"I don't know which frequency to go to, but I can narrow it down." Abby hesitated, then punched a few keys. The hum seemed to deepen, but the rhythmic peaks on the line got more visible.

There was a definite pattern – or at least it was too deliberate and too evenly spaced out to be accidental.

"What the hell is that?" Gibbs stared at the screen. His anger was being replaced by something else – the tug of his famous gut, probably. "Abby, make it louder."

"This is as loud as it gets. I can try to narrow it down a bit more."

The line got sharper, and then started to fade. She pressed more keys and got it back up, and as she typed, slowly, the humming fell back bit by bit and the lines grew more pronounced.

"There!" Ziva heard it first. "There it is. It sounds like..." She grimaced. "Like nothing. Like someone impatient, tapping their foot on the floor."

Gibbs glanced at her and then back at the screen. His eyes narrowed.

He straightened suddenly, his mouth curling up. "_Damn_, McGee."

"What, Gibbs?"

Gibbs reached out and tapped his finger against the screen audibly under each of the lines. Tap. Taptap. Taptap. Tap. Tap tap. Taptaptap.

Ziva sucked in a breath. "Morse code?"

Abby stared at Ziva, then punched some keys fast and got rid of one more layer of space between them and the noise. "I don't think Timmy even knows Morse code."

Gibbs didn't turn from the screen. He leaned in close, staring hard. "Mentioned it in his book, he must've done research. Knowing McGee, he probably made himself learn the whole damned alphabet."

Tony tried to smile, tried to distract himself from a welling hope that there was something real there, some clue. "That's our little McGeek."

Gibbs glanced his way. "Apparently he's getting some use out of it. Seems like a useful thing for any agent to learn."

Tony nodded easily. "Soon as we get him back I'll make him teach me."

Gibbs flashed the smallest, thinnest of smiles before turning back to the computer. "Start it from the beginning, Abby."

She obeyed. "You know, I've read _Deep Six_ like eight times. There isn't any mention of Mor--"

Ziva gave Abby a surprised look. "Eight?"

She smiled. "It's good."

"His _next_ book." Gibbs spoke sharply, dragging their focus back.

As much as Tony was willing to shut up and focus on the Probie, even that took him by surprise. "_Rock Hollow_? There's no mention of Morse Code in the parts we read last year, and it isn't published yet. How do you know?"

Gibbs turned fierce eyes to all three of them.

"Okay, that can wait." Abby's hand darted out and the recording started again. She shot Gibbs an apologetic look and reached out to get rid of one more layer of nothing, making the taps clearer.

Gibbs ignored her silent apology. "Can you slow it down?"

She did silently, and started it over for good measure.

Gibbs focused. "D. C A. L. Tony."

"On it." Tony was already pulling out his pad. He snatched a pen off Abby's desk. "Keep going."

"I, p, a, m..."

DCALIPAMGFSCH is what Tony ended up with before the sound cut off, and the background humming filled with far-off noise.

Screams. Tony could hear them in his head easily enough. The Doughertys had cut Tim's message off without even realizing it. He'd been tapping his foot even as he blathered to Gibbs about bats and Watson. Rash plan, and dangerous if they'd realized what he was doing. But damn, it was fucking smart.

_Good job, Probie_. Tony thought the words fervently.

Abby played the recording again, and the letters Gibbs called out were the same the second time. Abby grabbed Tony's pad and typed the letters up on the screen where they could all see them.

"DCA? Is that some acronym?"

"He probably got out a few letters before you managed to start recording the call." Tony frowned at the letters.

"Pam." Ziva pointed. "An accomplice?"

"Lip. Lip...AM?" Abby shook her head. "This doesn't make sense."

Tony stared at the letters. "It's McGee, it makes sense. Pam. GF could be...girlfriend? He probably knew he didn't have a lot of time, so he abbreviated."

Gibbs slapped Tony's back, hard. "Good. So Cali is short for California."

Abby frowned. "There's no way they got him all the way to--"

"California, Maryland." Tony grinned. "They must have headed north and left the phone and car to throw us off. Headed south after that."

"I've never heard of California, Maryland." But Abby punched up a new screen and typed fast. "That means Maryland was the first word, or MD. Cali, Pam, girlfriend, then s c h...school?"

Ziva straightened, suddenly less dubious. "The Doughertys grew up in Solomons, Maryland."

Tony nodded fast. He'd been going through their records all damned night. "It's a resort town on the Patuxent. They went to high school there. Probably have a few old girlfriends in the area."

A map appeared, and Abby zoomed in fast, marking Solomons. She beamed in triumph and pointed, clicking her mouse and letting the computer draw a line. "Right across the Patuxent from California, Maryland," she said happily.

Gibbs wheeled. "That's more than an hour's drive. Tony."

"The truck." Tony broke for the stairs, bypassing the elevator as too slow. They were on their way, damn it. And God help the Doughertys if his Probie was missing a hand or any other damned thing when they found him.

God wouldn't be able to help them if he was dead. Or if they had shown him a 'real good time'.

"Ziva, upstairs, get our gear. Abby, go through the Doughertys' school records. Find me a Pam and call me with a current address. You've got five minutes."

The last thing Tony heard from the lab was Abby's fierce answer. "I'll do it in two."


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: I warned for this at the very beginning, so I hope you were all paying attention. _

_Thanks again for all the great feedback._

* * *

The NCIS truck they set out in was the same as a dozen in the Navy Yard and used by law enforcement everywhere. It was well-stocked and well used, and they'd driven to hundreds of crime scenes and gone thousands of miles in it during Tony's stint under Gibbs.

So how had he never noticed that the truck was a fucking time machine? Innocent-looking from the outside, but it was really a god damned _time portal_ that made everything that happened from the moment they got in seem to happen at a hundredth its normal speed?

Or, okay, maybe it wasn't the truck. Maybe it was the fact that they were surrounded on all sides by stupid, slow, space-taking _people_. Every car was an enemy – Tony actually had to stop Ziva from drawing her gun when some assface in front of them kept hesitating before making a left turn into a gas station.

Hour and a half drive. Gibbs should have done it in an hour flat, but it was just after noon and everyone in the entire universe was apparently taking the Three Notch to get to their fucking lunch meetings.

Abby had called five minutes into the ride: _"The good news is I have an address for Pam. Bad news is...which Pam do you want?"_

Three Pams had gone to Patuxent High in the eight years that at least one Dougherty had attended. Two of those had lived in California, Maryland at the time. One of them had since moved across the country so she could get crossed off, but the third had moved ito/i California from Johnstown a few years back.

The two addresses weren't ten minutes apart, but the nearest one was still another forty miles off.

Tony couldn't even distract himself with fear as Gibbs whipped them past one car and snaked them around the next without ever laying a foot on the brakes. _Not fast enough_, he found himself thinking even as he clutched at the back of Ziva's seat to keep from whipping around as Gibbs angled too hard into a turn.

Not fast enough.

Had to get him back.

That was all Tony could think about. They had to get McGee back where he belonged.

It was _unnatural_ having to chase after him. Having to worry about him. Tony was the one who got injured in weird ways, Ziva was the one who got caught up in mysterious conspiracies. Gibbs was the one with countless old enemies and no sense of self-preservation. McGee?

McGee was the one who was always around to help get the other three out of trouble. He was the one who stared at a computer screen until it submitted to his will and gave up some vital answer.

McGee. Tim. No. He was different. The closest _McGee_ ever came to real trouble was being locked in a women's prison during a riot, but that hardly counted. He was there only a few hours, and the prisoners had been cooperative and asking for NCIS help pretty much the whole time.

Tim didn't make any _sense_ in this context – held hostage by lunatic brothers who had killed every law enforcement officer they ever met.

Screaming in the background of a phone call, rambling in such a strange, scared voice. _"Boss?"_

That wasn't Tim's job. It wasn't his position, damn it. It was Tony's. It should have been Tony.

And that was the beginning and end of the whole thing right there, wasn't it?

It should have been Tony.

* * *

"This isn't it."

Gibbs opened the driver's side door.

Tony leaned between the front seats and grabbed his arm. "Boss. This isn't the place. We can't waste time here."

Outside the car sat the first Pam address, and it looked at first sight like the perfect Hollywood setting for a pack of lowlife criminals to be hiding. A trailer, narrow and ominous with cardboard blocking the one window that faced the front. The grass was brown and patchy and overgrown where it grew at all. A car parked up against the side of the trailer looked like it hadn't moved in years – though at least it still had its wheels, which was more than many of the neighboring trailers could say.

It was ominous, there was no doubting that. No doubt a hundred crimes a day went on in this little trailer park. If there was ever a place designed to turn into a meth pit, this was it.

But Tony didn't doubt his instincts for a single moment. "We need to go, we need to get to the second house."

Gibbs didn't leave the car, but he didn't close the door. He looked back at Tony. "I'm waiting."

"My gut, boss." Tony looked around, leaning closer to the driver's side of the car and looking out the window as if he could spot whatever it was pinging at him. "This isn't it, and we have to move fast."

Gibbs frowned.

"It won't take much time at all to search a place this small, Tony," Ziva observed, her eyes more on Gibbs than Tony.

"No. We don't have time." Tony's stomach was churning. He had to swallow a strange nauseous feeling. "McGee doesn't have time."

Gibbs met his eyes for a long, solemn moment – and if Tony hadn't been sure that returning that even gaze was the only thing that would make Gibbs listen, he would have slapped his boss on the back of the head to get him moving faster.

Gibbs shut his door and started the engine.

They were back on the road leading out of the trailer park when Ziva verbalized what all three of them were thinking.

"If you're wrong, Tony, and we were that close to McGee only to drive away without even looking..."

It was time for a cocky smile and a boast about never being wrong, but Tony's voice wasn't obeying. His braggart DiNozzo instincts were on vacation or something, because all he could manage was a wry twist of a bitter smile and a quiet answer. "If that's the case, you think you could make me feel worse than I'd make myself feel?"

"If that's the case, how you feel's going to be the least of your problems." Gibbs focused on the road, eyes flickering back at Tony through the rear view mirror.

His pocket started ringing, luckily, drawing his eyes away from Tony. He tugged out the phone one-handed as he turned them back onto Three Notch.

"Yeah, Abs." His lips thinned after a moment, the tension coming through in his voice. "Bottom line it for me, Abby."

He glanced back at Tony again through the mirror as he listened to her answer. "Yeah, I got it." He shut the phone and tossed it on the dash. For a moment he was silent, his eyes on the road. "Something about an acoustics test on that phone call she recorded."

"Yeah? What about it?" Tony didn't care much – he only cared that Gibbs was driving the way only Gibbs could, and they'd be at the second house in five minutes, max.

"When McGee was screaming in the background he had to be at least fifteen feet away from the phone, and there was a good ten feet from the phone to the nearest wall, including the ceiling." Gibbs raised his eyebrows back at Tony. "Trailer would've been too small."

Tony sagged against the back. He tried to find a grin, some kind of inappropriate yet DiNozzian display of triumph. It didn't come. Relief that they weren't twenty feet from McGee when he opened his big mouth was strong, but they still didn't have him back yet. And if Abby had run her acoustic tests earlier they wouldn't have lost ten minutes getting to the damned trailer in the first place.

Tension was making him petty, apparently.

* * *

The second house was a direct opposite to that ominous rusting trailer. They were in a small neighborhood right off Three Notch that was fairly nice – two story houses and sprawling ramblers, toys in the yards and newish cars in the driveways. The street they turned on to only had houses on one side of the road. The other side of the road and to the sides and back of the houses were trees without end. Dense woods – there were probably raccoons and deer out on that street digging through the trash cans at least once a night.

The house itself was towards the end of the road, with a full two car-driveway, a boat parked and waiting for the weekend, a pair of dusty dirt bikes against the house. Tony could picture a father and son going through the woods on the way to some camping spot. It was all very cozy, and looked completely innocent.

If this was the wrong house, if there was some other Pam, or they'd gotten Tim's message wrong, or there were some underground chamber under that first trailer they had him stashed in...Tony was going to punch someone. Hard. With his fist, and pain.

They parked a couple of houses down, put their radios in their ears, drew their weapons, and shut the car doors quietly as they got out.

The time for guilt and worrying and gut feelings was done.

Gibbs pointed Tony and Ziva at the front door and took the back himself. Tony lost sight of him almost instantly. The radio earwigs were on but they weren't wasting time with positions and plans and communication. It was understood that they were going in fast and hard, without giving the occupants inside time to run.

Tony wanted to kick the door in and dive into that house, but he couldn't – silence was just as important as speed. Ziva crouched in front of the door with tools in hand, making short work of the uncomplicated lock. In the back Gibbs would be doing the same to the back door.

"Ready," Tony murmured when Ziva straightened.

In their ears Gibbs responded just as quietly. _"Go."_

Tony gripped his gun tight. Ziva twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

The next minutes were a blur.

A woman threw herself at them when they turned the first corner into a living room, and she was sobbing and clutching at Ziva and begging for help from her psycho ex, proclaiming her own innocence loudly. Too damned loudly.

With her usual empathy Ziva clamped the woman's mouth shut with a strong hand and hissed accented threats if she kept making noise.

Tony forgot them as he moved past to clear the living room. Any other time he'd've given Ziva crap for terrorizing a possible victim, but not now. His mind was on getting his Probie back. He cleared the small kitchen and hesitated at the staircase leading upstairs.

Behind him came Ziva's increasingly annoyed hisses to the hysterical woman.

From the back of the house came a heated curse in Gibbs' growling voice, and footsteps pounded out the back door.

Tony didn't care. He didn't focus on it, didn't even ask what it meant that Gibbs had broken silence and gone running. He moved, he searched.

He pushed open a door outside the kitchen and saw stairs leading down, and an ugly yellow light burning in the basement beyond the stairs. And he knew.

Gibbs and Ziva and sobbing Pams were instantly forgotten. All the rest of it could go to hell. He _knew_.

* * *

There had been semen in Tibbett's stomach. Colin Dougherty had promised to show McGee a 'real good time'. But Tony hadn't prepared himself.

He wasn't ready for it.

Their quiet entrance into the house hadn't filtered into the basement. Even sobbing Pam's first loud exclamations must not have filtered through the shut door and down the stairs. Whichever Dougherty this was wasn't expecting company. And Tony...

Tony wasn't expecting this.

The basement was wide and deep, there were hiding places and dark spots, enough to spark a trained law enforcement officer's search-and-clear instincts. But Tony didn't even see those. His vision seemed to tunnel.

He didn't see anything else but a pale Irish ass and pale thick thighs, and jeans puddled on the floor around pale Irish ankles.

All he saw was the glimpse of a face being blocked by that pale ass. He saw eyes shut tight and a face drained of color. He heard muttered curses and harsh breathing, and underneath it he heard the sounds of gagging.

And then all he felt was the gun in his hand, and all he saw was a red-headed corpse just waiting to happen.

"Dougherty." Tony's voice could have belonged to a stranger, as unfamiliar as it sounded. His gun nearly shook, it was so anxious to go off.

A face turned his way, startled eyes locked on Tony for a moment. Conor. Not Colin, not the oldest and most dangerous, but Conor, the middle brother. The taller and thicker one. The idiot.

Not idiot enough to be unarmed, though - Tony heard the cocking of a gun he couldn't see. Had to be pointed at McGee. Right at McGee's head, at his shut eyes and gagging throat.

"Move and he dies," came Conor's breathless threat.

Tony's entire world tunnelled just as narrow as his vision seemed to. Before he could answer, though, Dougherty's spine suddenly jerked. His back arched and his mouth opened.

For a sick moment Tony thought he was coming, but the sound that came out of him had no pleasure behind it. It was a scream, high and broken. He lurched a few steps backwards. His gun hit the ground with a heavy thunk, and he doubled over he hit his knees.

Tony's eyes flashed from him to McGee long enough to see his glassy eyes, now open and staring at Dougherty. Long enough to see his arms twisted unnaturally behind his back, and a rope wound tight around his neck, pressing a visible line in his throat. Red staining McGee's shirt, blood thick up one sleeve, and drying a dull brown on his jeans. Red tracking down his chin.

On his knees. Tied there, unable to even pull his head away when someone approached with their dick hanging out.

Bleeding. On his fucking _knees_.

Dougherty was bent over puking when Tony's gun went off. The blast filled the thick cement walls of the basement, the recoil sent a familiar ache up Tony's arm.

Dougherty jerked and fell, hard, into his own vomit. He didn't move. The back of his head glistened with dark red, slowly spreading under the dull orange of his hair.

Tony didn't feel a god damned thing. Not while he watched the blood drip from red hair to the hard grey floor.

Not until he looked past Dougherty's corpse.

Then his feelings came back. Hard.

He stepped over Dougherty and hit his knees at McGee's side, looking at the complicated chain of ropes that were holding him in place. His wrists were bound together; the rope looped around his arms at the elbows, pulling them too high and too close behind his back. The rope around his neck was tied to the mass of knots around his wrists – he would strangle himself if his hands lowered, but if he brought his hands up to ease the tension cutting into his neck his shoulders would have wrenched out of place.

The knots looked like a disorganized mess, but a fucking effective one. He wasn't tied to anything, but he couldn't have moved from that spot if his life depended on it.

Tony could see red staining the rope where McGee had fought the binds. Blood on his wrists, on his elbows. Red, thick and dark down one sleeve.

"Tony?" McGee's voice, hoarse and choked, was the only thing that could have cut through the red haze Tony's brain had become.

Tony swallowed. "I...shit. I have to get Ziva. Easier to cut these off than try to figure out--"

"No."

Tony looked away from the ropes with some difficulty, and forced his eyes up to meet McGee's gaze.

His green eyes were still glassy, but fierce with fury that almost hid humiliation beneath. "That didn't happen."

Tony hesitated, brow furrowing. Hard to look at McGee, but impossible to look away.

McGee met his eyes for a long, heated moment But shame pushed up over the anger, and his fury was already crackling and fusing into something else.

"Tony, please..."

Tony looked over at Dougherty's body and suddenly understood.

Something in his chest seemed to crumble, and he got to his feet. "No." He spoke grimly. "No, that didn't fucking happen."

He went to Dougherty and crouched, barely avoiding a puddle of vomit slowly dwindling with spreading blood. He grabbed denim and jerked and yanked, his hands graceless, until Dougherty's jeans were back around his waist.

He only saw the blood when he went to fasten Conor's jeans, and only when he looked closer did he see where the blood came from.

So that was why Dougherty screamed the way he did. That was why he collapsed and puked all over himself.

The blood on McGee's chin wasn't McGee's.

_Good._ Good Probie.

He stifled his own disgust to push Dougherty's bitten and bloody cock back into his jeans before he fastened them, and almost the moment he had the button closed the sound of footsteps came thundering down the stairs.

He jumped to his feet, wiping streaks of blood from his hands to his jeans.

"McGee!" Ziva stopped at the foot of the stairs. Her eyes went from McGee to Tony and then Dougherty, obviously dead at Tony's feet. The briefest flicker of satisfaction was all the emotion she granted Dougherty before she dismissed him, stepping off the staircase with her focus going back to McGee.

"We could use your knife here," Tony said simply, moving back to McGee and regarding those ropes again.

McGee's head twisted away, his breathing ragged.

"Of course." Ziva was beside him in a flash. She tucked her gun in its holster, and knife flashed in her hand a moment later. She murmured an exotic-sounding curse as she reached out to twist one of the knots, trying to determine what was attached to what.

Tony left her to it. He moved around in front of McGee, crouching. "Hey. You okay?"

McGee's breath stuttered. This time he couldn't meet Tony's eyes.

Tony had no idea where the gesture came from, but he found himself reaching out and swiping his thumb over Tim's chin once and then twice, clearing away Conor's blood.

"Tim..." He heard the strange catch in his own voice and clamped his mouth shut.

McGee...Tim looked up then, for a moment cornered and unsteady. But his eyes found Tony's and he drew in a breath. "I'm okay," he said, low. His voice was too raw, and what was in his eyes wasn't _okay_.

"Don't speak too soon. This is going to hurt." Ziva leaned around and regarded Tim. "How long have you been tied like this?"

"A while." Tim drew in a breath, shivering. "Just get me out."

She ducked behind him again. "Don't pull. When the ropes give bring your arms down slowly. Trust me."

"Got a lot of experience being tied up?" Tim asked, and christ. He really was trying to be okay but the humor was so frail and thin in his voice that it made Tony chest ache.

Ziva hummed. "In Mossad we are trained in the use of stress positions as a means of torture."

Tony looked at Ziva then, trying for the joke so Tim didn't have to force it out. "Trained to give or receive?"

Her eyes flickered up at him. "Both." A flash of amusement came and then instantly vanished. "Tony..."

Tony dropped to his knees from his unsteady crouch. He looked at Tim, at his bruised face and bruised eyes, and he nodded. "I've got him, just do it."

Her arm jerked once, and the rope cutting into Tim's neck went slack. Tim gasped instantly, drawing in a deep breath so fast he started to choke on it.

Tony caught him awkwardly, scared to touch his arms or shoulders. Tim ended up leaning forward against him, his pained coughs muffled in Tony's shirt. Tony finally let his hands settle just north of Tim's waist, an almost-hug to keep Tim from having to hold himself up.

"I've got you," he murmured, feeling Tim shuddering against him. And he did. No matter what he walked in on, no matter how long Tim was tied there or what else they did to him in the last day, Tony had him finally.

He was back where he belonged, with his team. With Tony, who was just starting to get the idea that he had grown really dependent on having his Probie around.

The geek in the neighboring desk. The blushes and stammers that Tony could get from him despite his growing confidence. The rolling eyes when Tony told his dumb jokes. The unapologetic nerdiness and rare but increasingly-frequent sarcastic retorts.

It was a cliché, wasn't it, that people didn't know what they had until it was gone. Maybe that's what this was, this relief that muted Tony's overprotective fury.

Tim wouldn't like that – he was a writer, he didn't like cliches. But Tony didn't mind so much.

He could feel heat radiating out of Tim through the thin t-shirt they left him in. He could see bloodstains, rips in the fabric. Gashes in his skin and on his face. He had a hundred questions. But he kept his arms loose at Tim's waist and let him catch his breath and get over the wave of pain that his arms were no doubt blasting out at him.

Behind him Ziva kept working to untangle the mass of ropes that still held his wrists and ankles. Her knife jerked once and again and again, and Tim's face buried harder against Tony's shirt.

Ziva cursed, soft and vehement, and tugged up a frayed length of rope before tossing it out of the way. "One more, that's it." Her voice was low, matter-of-fact in that Ziva way she always had. "Though it looks like I have saved the worst for last."

Tim puffed air into Tony's chest, and when he pulled back Tony saw it was laughter. Bitter, but laughter all the same. "S'okay, Ziva."

Slurring. Bad sign. Tony leaned back to study him. "Breathe, Tim. She's almost done."

The bitterness drowned out the laughter. "Easy for you to say."

"_Where the hell are you two?"_

Caught by surprise Tony jerked at the voice, stunned at the reminder of a world outside that basement. Though she heard Gibbs just as loudly in her ear Ziva didn't even flinch, didn't for a moment look away from those ropes.

"Basement, boss. The door's off the kitchen." Tony was impressed with himself – he sounded almost normal.

Tim blinked at him, but his eyes flickered to Tony's ear and he understood. His throat worked and he seemed to sink further into himself.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Tony glanced back over his shoulder and watched Pissed Gibbs appear, a glowering force of nature. Tony instantly knew without a shred of doubt that Colin Dougherty had gotten away. Nothing else could have pissed Gibbs off so badly.

Furious blue eyes found Tony and Tim and Ziva, and then Tim again. Almost instantly, Boss Gibbs pushed Pissed Gibbs back to the background, and fury was replaced by relieved urgency.

"McGee." Gibbs made a direct line to them, not paying a second's attention to the corpse on the floor even as he stepped around the blood-and-puke stain. "Hey. You okay?"

"I'm almost done here, Gibbs." Ziva's voice was neutral but her eyes landed on Gibbs meaningfully and she nodded behind Tim's back.

Gibbs moved around instantly, and Tony could see his face change without seeing why. Pissed Gibbs was starting to fight his way back out. "Damn it."

"Ziva, just cut them off." Tim's voice was getting less and less steady.

She cleared her throat. "McGee, it appears they wrapped this last rope very tightly around--"

"I know." Tim shut his eyes. "A lighter."

"What?" Tony flashed a glare past him at Ziva – why the fuck was Tim not free yet?

"He used a lighter. To make me scream. When Gibbs was on the phone."

Gibbs didn't move, but his already dangerous features darkened.

Tony decided he didn't even want to see what they were talking about. "So it'll hurt, fine. Just get the fucking rope off, Ziva."

She held her breath and her arm jerked. Fast, not wasting an instant, she pulled and twisted and came up with a frayed length of stiff, red-stained rope.

Without a sound Tim sagged against Tony and didn't recover. His arms dropped limp to his sides, and Tony saw why Ziva had hesitated so long. A lighter? A lighter had seared that thick line of blackened and newly-bleeding skin on his arm?

He was going to help Ziva and Gibbs get Tim out of that basement and somewhere where he could get some help. And then he was going to come right back down those stairs and he was going to kill Conor Dougherty all over again.


	5. Chapter 5

_I'm starting to sound redundant, but thanks again for the feedback, everyone. :-) _

* * *

Tony's guess was right – Colin Doughery had escaped Gibbs. Took off through the thick woods behind the house on a dirt bike, leaving the second bike with a kitchen knife sticking through the rubber of its front tire.

Which explained why Gibbs had been so pissed, and caused Tony a fair amount of frustrated fury. But none of them worried too much about the eldest Dougherty brother right then.

It was a fight to see who had to work the scene and who was going with Tim to the hospital – a short, fierce fight that Tony somehow lost. Frigging Ziva and her guilt over having to cut Tim out of those ropes: Gibbs was a sucker for a woman who wanted to play caretaker, and Ziva's wide, worried eyes won her the ride-along in the ambulance.

Tony pushed himself to focus on the scene. He killed a man in that house, after all, it should have been important to him to work it. It wasn't, of course, and he was as far from feeling guilty about the bullet in Conor Dougherty's head as any man could be.

He was a better man with a bullet in him.

Then again Tony did get to be there when Gibbs called the Navy Yard and told Abby they found her geek. Her reaction was audible through the phone, and it made Tony smile even through the weird, foreign tug of annoyance at Gibbs calling Tim _Abby's_ geek.

And hell, there wasn't much to do at the scene. Conor was dead, and it wasn't like they needed evidence to put Colin away when they caught him. They didn't need to prove what happened in that house – they had a federal agent as a witness and a corpse to back up the story.

So when Gibbs slapped his arm and nodded him out the door after the local LEOs showed up on scene, Tony didn't question it. He got in the car and didn't tell Gibbs to slow down once as they left the house behind and headed back up north.

Apparently Ziva had bullied the ambulance into skipping the nearest hospitals and taking Tim all the way to Bethesda. Straight home.

It was good to be on familiar turf when doing the unfortunately-familiar walk from parking garage to hospital lobby. Even as busy as Bethesda could be, there were familiar faces there who would recognize Gibbs and his crew. That wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Fortunately Gibbs got jumped by a black-haired whirlwind before they had to track down a possibly unfriendly nurse to ask for directions.

"Gibbs! Thank you thank you _thank_ you!"

Gibbs hugged Abby with a faint smile – a reaction only Abby could get from him. "Where'd they put him?"

"Come on! I was getting him some coffee. Poor baby hasn't had caffeine since yesterday morning, and after being on your team for like five years he's addicted. Come with me - you probably need some too."

Gibbs sighed but turned with her.

Tony stopped them. "I don't want coffee." His eyes were on Abby.

She beamed. "Down the hall behind a curtain. Just listen for Ziva cursing in Hebrew or whatever – you can't miss 'em."

Tony patted her arm. "Thanks." He returned her grin until she tugged Gibbs on to find the nearest coffee stand. His grin faded once she was gone, and he moved back the way she pointed.

Tim hadn't been admitted formally, then. Not yet. Maybe Abby thought that was good news, but Tony knew better. His arm was enough to warrant admission - those burns would need a skin graft at least. Which meant his not being admitted yet was a bad thing.

It meant they were still working out where to put him, which meant they were still figuring out what needed attention first. Which meant that his arm wasn't the only injury he had.

Tony did hear a few muttered words in Ziva's familiar voice as he moved down the corridor, but she seemed to be winding down when he spotted her sitting behind a thin blue curtain. He felt inexplicably nervous as he moved up behind her, reaching for the curtain. He even hesitated for some reason before he pulled the curtain enough to slip inside and draw it back around them. The illusion of privacy.

"Tony." Ziva's face was drawn and unhappy, but she nodded at him in greeting. "Where is Gibbs?"

"Waylaid by Hurricane Scuito." Tony drew in a breath and looked past her.

Tim was hiked up in a raised bed, an IV inserted in his unburned arm. His eyes were slits, his face slack. Feeling no pain.

Tony tried to be amused. "Hey, McJunkie. How are the drugs here?"

"'ony?" Tim's eyes shut and opened into even thinner slits. He tried again. "Ton'?"

Tony moved around the bed, sitting delicately on the edge of the mattress. "Close enough. You okay?"

Tim made an unidentifiable noise, eyes shutting again.

Tony smiled, but looked over at Ziva. "Is he okay?"

"No." She sat back, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared at the bed. "They're trying to find a slot in surgery."

Tony's smile faded. He frowned at the bandages wrapped around Tim's other arm, the glistening of medicated cream peaking from under the bandages.

"Not only for his arm, for his hands." Ziva leaned in suddenly, unwrapping herself enough to touch the side of the bed beside Tim's hand. Tony noticed that the bandage on his burned skin went all the way down to his wrist, and his other arm was wrapped from elbow down. "The ropes those _rasheh_ tied him with cut him so deeply they worry he may have nerve damage."

Tony's eyebrows shot up and he whistled. "Damn, Probie. Must've fought like hell."

Ziva regarded him, her eyes cool. "I'm sure your admiration will more than make up for injuries that may take his ability to properly use a weapon." She sat back, her hands folding in her lap. "Perhaps even his ability to use a computer keyboard."

Tony's eyes shot over to her. "They didn't say that, did they? The doctors?"

"What do you suppose nerve damage in a man's wrist will lead to?"

Tony looked back at those bandaged wrists, cursing under his breath for one weak moment before he gathered himself. "Oh, please. Probie's stubborn. I'd like to see some doctor try to take the man's ability to geek away from him." He looked at Tim's closed eyes, hoping he was actually unconscious. "And don't think I don't know why you're all hostile with me, David."

"Oh, please tell me what's going through my head, DiNozzo."

"You think you hurt him worse by cutting him out of those bindings so fast, and so you're gonna fall back on the famous Gibbs 'Blame the Guy Who Was There' technique and put your guilt on me." Tony reached out and scratched the tip of his fingernail against the thick bandages over Tim's wrist. Nerve damage. Please.

People just kept on underestimating his Probie.

Tony sighed and glanced over at Ziva, who was purse-mouthed but silent. "And that's fine, okay? Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just don't go throwing around sentiments about him not being able to use a computer, because it's bullshit and he doesn't need your pessimism."

"He doesn't need you two idiots sitting here fighting, either."

Gibbs' voice made them both stand instantly. Tony gestured at Tim. "That's why we waited until he was sleeping, boss."

Gibbs moved up, holding out one of two matching cups.

Tony took the coffee, surprised. "Thanks."

Abby was holding a fourth cup with a paper tea-bag tag hanging from under the lid, but she had stopped a few steps back and was staring at Tony. "What do you mean, he can't use a computer?"

Tony shot a glare at Ziva.

She frowned. "Nothing, Abby. I'm simply speculating."

"Well, don't! That's a horrible speculation! He's fine, he was just up a minute ago talking to me and making stupid jokes." She moved to Ziva and thrust the tea at her. "He's fine," she said again, reaching out to ruffle Tim's hair.

Tony frowned, waiting until Abby was looking back at Ziva before reaching over to straighten the mess she'd made with Tim's hair.

He turned back in time to catch a bemused eyebrow raise from Gibbs, and he felt his cheeks go hot inexplicably.

"--to know where the doctor is, anyway." Ziva was saying when Tony tuned back in. She was speaking too loud, probably hoping to deflect Abby's annoyed gaze onto someone else.

Gibbs put a hand on Abby's shoulder. "Okay, look. McGee's safe, and nobody in this room got any sleep last night. I'll stay with him until a doctor shows up. Abs, go home and get some rest."

Abby drew back in surprise. "Um. How about _no_, Gibbs?"

"Wasn't a request, Abby. You too, Ziva. Tony. Go home, get some rest. We've still got a Dougherty on the loose – this case isn't done yet."

Tony looked at Gibbs, eyebrows raised.

Gibbs gave him that grim preface-to-a-head-slap look.

Tony turned back to Tim, sipping his coffee. "You know, if he hasn't had any coffee I'm guessing the Doughertys didn't feed him, either. Maybe we should grab some take-out for when he wakes up? Hospital food might drive him into a coma."

"DiNozzo. I'm not kidding. Go home, get some rest. I'll call you when the doctor has any kind of news. Ziva, take Abby with you when--"

"He's a sucker for orange chicken. Extra spicy." Abby stood beside Ziva and faced down Gibbs, her annoyance about pessimistic speculations forgotten. "There's a Chinese place like a block away."

Ziva nodded, her eyes on Gibbs as well. "Good. We can be back in minutes."

Tony smirked. "Bring me back some sweet and sour cat, or whatever the place has."

Ziva held her hand out to Gibbs. "We'll need the keys to the truck, Gibbs."

Gibbs looked back at her with a tightening jaw. "What you need is to follow my instructions before I have to make them orders."

Ziva and Abby exchanged glances. Both pairs of eyes landed on Gibbs a moment later.

Tony watched the showdown for a moment, but shook his head and turned back to Tim with a smirk. "You really oughta be awake for this, Mister Nobody Likes Me."

Tim didn't move.

Tony's smirk faded.

"Fine. Jesus." Behind Tony came the tinkle of keys as Gibbs gave in. "Bring me back some spare ribs."

* * *

"--out of surgery, and we're moving him to a room within the hour."

Tony stopped in the corridor, grinning instantly when he heard the words.

Ziva's snores were more than audible, and the lack of squealing in response to the doctor's words meant Abby was still asleep as well. Which left only Gibbs, low and serious, to answer the doc.

"So how's the damage looking?"

Tony hung back and listened, staying out of sight in case he grinned too big and people started getting the strange idea that he actually liked his Probie.

"The graft went well, but he'll have some scars. There was some trauma to the burn area, which will make the scarring worse than it might have been. His right wrist should heal with no problems, but we did find indications of nerve damage on the left. There's no telling how extensive that will be until he's awake and able to submit to a few tests."

Tony winced. McGee was left-handed. He wasn't going to be happy.

"Anything else?" Gibbs asked, voice giving away nothing.

"Nothing life-threatening. A good deal of bruising, a couple of cracked ribs, nothing broken. He will ache for a good long time, but--"

"I'm talking about the SAE kit, doctor."

There was a beat of silence.

Tony froze. His smile vanished.

Of course Gibbs would have asked them to do a rape kit. After Colin's phone call and the discovery in Tibbett's stomach... It was just surprising Tim gave his consent, considering. He must have realized that Gibbs would read more into his refusing it than anything the doctors might find.

A dark, chilling thought struck Tony the moment before the doctor answered:

Just because he stopped the scene he walked in on in that basement didn't mean it was the first or only time one of them tried anything.

"There's no evidence of forced penetration, Agent Gibbs. No tearing, no bleeding."

"But there's evidence of something, or you wouldn't have hesitated." Gibbs' voice was a growl.

"Well...nothing specific to the SAE, but worrying signs nonethe--"

"Get to the point."

"There is some specific bruising that could be an indication of a sexual attack. Bruising on his knees, though that may be explained by the position you reported you found him bound in. Around his mouth, which could be a part of the larger beating he took, or could evidence a specific attack on their own. And his genitals are bruised, pretty thoroughly. It could have come from a beating, but the amount of focused bruising indicates that whether it was sexual assault or physical assault, it was focused on his genitals deliberately."

Tony leaned back against the wall, rubbing the dryness out of his eyes. _Damn it, Tim._ What else did they do to him?

Tim answered, at least in Tony's memory: _"That didn't happen. Tony, please..."_

"Tony."

He jumped, eyes flying open.

Gibbs must have wrapped up his talk with the doc. He stood in the entry from the lobby and regarded Tony. "Doc says we can go in for a few minutes, before he's moved. You coming?"

If Gibbs had any feelings one way or the other about what the doctor had said, or any suspicions about what actually happened to Tim, they didn't show in his eyes. Maybe they showed, though, in the fact that he didn't question Tony for standing there with his eyes closed like a melodramatic idiot, and that he was letting Tony come instead of leaving him in the lobby with the snore sisters.

Tony didn't even answer him, just followed when Gibbs moved past him.

* * *

Tim was knocked out pretty hard from the anesthetic. He didn't look much different than he had before surgery, really. If anything the bruises dotting his face - around his mouth - seemed darker and harsher.

Two Doughertys were dead, but one was still out there. Colin. The oldest, the ring leader. The one who wanted to take Tony in the first place. The one who took Tim instead.

If Tim had been awake, Tony would have reassured him that Colin Dougherty was never going to live long enough to go to trial. Maybe it would be one less worry for him.

"Did he say anything to you? In that house?"

Tony didn't look back at Gibbs, because it was too hard to lie to him while making eye contact. "Said he was okay when I asked. That was it."

_'Tony, please...'_

"Conor Dougherty was down there with him when you got there."

Tony tensed. He studied Tim's slack face, wondering when the last time was that Tim begged him for anything. "He must have heard us come in," he lied as smoothly as he could. "He had a gun to Tim's head. Threatened to kill him."

"And?"

Tony looked back then, because that at least wouldn't be a lie. "I killed him first."

Gibbs met his eyes, eyebrows raised just slightly. "What made him throw up before he died?"

Tony smiled. "I guess I was just that scary."

Gibbs' eyebrows only lifted higher.

Tony met his eyes long enough to make the point that he wasn't changing the story in the face of Gibbs' skepticism, then he looked back at Tim.

Gibbs moved around the bed. He regarded Tim for a long moment, then looked up at Tony from across the bed. "Whatever report you give, make sure it's one you can stick to."

* * *

He only left the hospital because Gibbs' words put a thought into his head that he couldn't get out: 'Make sure it's one you can stick to' didn't just mean a story Tony could keep straight and Tim would agree with. It meant a story that the facts would support.

And there was one fleshy piece of proof that would tell the secret Tony was trying to keep for Tim.

So he left the hospital, left Ziva and Gibbs to their Dougherty-hunting plans, and Abby to her care-taking.

The last time he walked into the morgue it was Petty Officer Tibbett who was spread open on Ducky's table. This time it was Conor Dougherty, one of Tibbett's killers. There was a sense of justice in that.

"Agent DiNozzo."

Tony nodded at Ducky's assistant as he moved in. "Where's Ducky, Palmer?"

"On his way to the hospital. You probably passed him on the road."

Tony cursed under his breath, regarding Conor's pale body. There were curved needles and a roll of suture set out beside the table. That meant that Palmer was preparing to stitch up the long y-shaped autopsy cuts.

Meaning they were done, meaning Ducky was on his way to tell Gibbs everything.

Tony wouldn't make it back in time. Damn it, he figured Ducky would've taken more time, would've still been slicing and probing at Conor when he got there to spin the wound he would find.

Maybe he could find a way to spin whatever Ducky was going to tell Gibbs, though. Tony could spin just about anything. He just had to find out what Ducky was going to say.

"So...how was my shot?"

Palmer looked up from the sutures he was organizing. He blinked behind his glasses. "You...?" He gestured at the body.

Tony nodded proudly. It was a good kill. A righteous kill.

"Oh. Well. Your shot was good, I guess. I mean, he was dead before he hit the ground, so if that's what you were going for..." He shrugged, quick and uncertain the way he was about ninety percent of the time. "It was perfect. It'll be a short report."

"Yeah?" Tony stared at the body, eyes drawn unerringly down to the cleaned gashes in Conor's dick. "Didn't find anything interesting?"

"Like what? There's not a lot of mystery here to be solved, Agent DiNozzo. We know how he died, now we know who did it." Palmer flashed a whippet-fast smile at Tony, stitching a thin, curved needle with a dark line of suture.

"There are some indications of violence, but nothing we didn't...I mean, not that we thought he'd have..." Palmer gestured towards Conor's dick, red-faced.

Bingo. Tony tried to look surprised. "Ouch. Looks painful."

Palmer nodded. "Doctor Mallard was going to pull an impression off his...um. They're bite marks, if you can believe...yeah. But we figured we wouldn't bother."

Tony's throat worked. He looked up at Palmer. "Yeah? Why not?"

"Doctor Mallard insisted it wasn't necessary." Palmer didn't look back at Tony, just threaded his needle with slow precision. "It didn't contribute to his death. It's an older wound anyway."

"Older?"

"Older."

Hope stirred in Tony, and he just knew he was going to owe Ducky a huge sloppy kiss. Still, he had to be sure. "They don't...they look pretty recent--"

"They're old." Palmer looked up then, speaking firmly. "Unless we're given a reason to think otherwise."

Of course. Palmer was a morgue assistant, he'd be able to spot fresh bites when he saw them. And really, the idea that Ducky and Palmer were conspiring to protect Tim without even being asked made Tony want to give the guy a hug. Or a car.

Palmer cleared his throat. "Anyway, I just have to close up here and we're all done with him. And that's it, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony smiled, then tried to wipe it off his face. "Right. Okay, thanks for the update, Jimmy. I'll just..." He hesitated. "I gotta get back to the hospital. You gonna be long here? You could come."

"Oh. Um, thanks, Agent DiNozzo, but we've got a couple of arrivals due in in the next couple of hours." Palmer flashed a nervous smile, and approached Dougherty with the needle threaded with suture. "I hope Agent McGee is alright."

"He will be." Tony grinned, resisting the urge to slap Palmer on the shoulder. "I'll just get back over there and make sure."

* * *

Gibbs was the only one in the lobby when Tony got back to the hospital.

"No reason for them to disobey me now he's awake and okay." Gibbs shrugged when Tony asked. "We've got a case to close. I had Ducky take them both home."

Tony grinned. Tim was awake, and okay. And Ducky was a good, good man. "What about you, boss?"

Gibbs nodded down the hall. "Figured you'd show back up. You remember which room?"

"Yeah. You leaving?"

"Depends on you, DiNozzo." Gibbs turned to Tony, eyes serious. "I'm not kidding about this case. We may have two of those bastards in cold storage, but the worst one is still out there." He hesitated, grabbing Tony's arm and leading him away from the one nurse behind the front desk. "They don't leave survivors, Tony. No one these guys ever got their hands on made it out alive."

Tony nodded, but realized what he was getting at a moment later. His body went cold. "You think Colin's going to come for Tim. Finish the job."

"I wouldn't put it past him." Gibbs was finally starting to show the lack of sleep and constant stress of the last couple of days. His eyes seemed dark, his face sagging with exhaustion. But his eyes were sharp and grim. "He didn't like authority figures before, and since he grabbed McGee both his brothers have been killed. He's not going to let that be the end of it."

Gibbs glanced back down the corridor leading to Tim's room. "One of us can stay tonight or I can call the Navy Yard and get a couple of guards stationed at his door."

Tony was shaking his head before Gibbs was done talking. "No, I've got him. I'll stay."

Gibbs locked eyes with him, and for a moment his exhaustion gave way to a flash of bemusement, like when he'd caught Tony straightening Tim's hair earlier. "If he's up to it, have him go over what happened the last couple of days. Find out what led to Clancy Dougherty being dumped in a creek. Maybe we'll get lucky and Tim didn't actually have anything to do with that."

Tony doubted it, but didn't say anything – from the sound of Gibbs' voice he already knew.


	6. Chapter 6

He walked through the door quietly, but Tim's head swung towards him and heavy eyelids peeled open.

"Tony?"

"Hey, you got all four letters of my name in this time." Tony grinned, big and sincere even if it was a little tight at the corners. "Must be feeling better already."

He didn't look better – his eyes being opened just emphasised the bruising around them, the bruising on his mouth. The paleness, the dark circles. Damn it.

But Tim flashed a small, self-conscious smile. "Kind of hard to tell. I can feel my brain again, but I can feel everything else, too." He shifted, arms coming up from under the sheets, resting on top. Almost as if he wanted to at least seem a more in control and less helpless-in-bed while Tony was around. "So...you know, there's pros and cons."

Tony beamed at the joke. He sat on the bed and twist a knee up to face his Probie. "They gonna keep you long?"

"Through tomorrow at least, to make sure the graft takes." He looked down at his bandaged arms, working the fingers of his right hand open and closed. "I think the doctors have talked to Gibbs more than me, so you know more than I do." He looked from his right hand to his left. It sat heavy on the sheets.

His voice was too calm when he spoke next. "They say anything about nerve damage?"

Tony hesitated, but pasted on a grin when Tim's gaze lifted to him. "Nothing but speculation. You've got to give it a few hours at least."

Tim shook his head. "My hand feels strange. Can hardly feel..." His left hand rose, and he rubbed at his ring finger and pinky absently. "I know something about this kind of thing, Tony. The ulnar nerve. From where they had my elbows tied. Too much pressure pinching the nerve for too long."

Tony rolled his eyes, tapping the back of his knuckles against Tim's left hand. "Whipping out that bio-medical degree at a time like this? There's a reason doctors go to hospitals when they get sick, McBrain. Self-diagnosis is usually bullshit."

Tim let out a breath, but looked away from Tony and didn't argue.

"Gibbs wants to know what happened."

"I was surprised he left without asking," Tim replied, voice low. He didn't look at Tony, more deliberate about not-looking than he was a moment ago. "So what happened?"

"In that house?" Tony was almost hurt at the question, but at least he could answer confidently. Bless Ducky and bless Jimmy Palmer, weird little man that he was. "We both know what happened, Tim. And we both know what _didn't_ happen, and that's that."

Tim drew in a breath, harsh. "Thanks." Barely audible, that word.

Tony changed the subject fast. "It's last night he's wondering about. When they ditched that sedan."

Tim winced.

Not a good subject to change too, apparently. "It can keep until tomorrow."

Tim didn't move, didn't answer or try to stammer out some lie about being fine with it. His head dropped to the side, cheek on the pillow. "I can't believe that was just last night. Feels like a week ago."

Tony sighed. "Look, Tim..."

"I should be dead, Tony." Tim seemed strangely young, laying there staring at the wall, pale. Maybe it was the white of the sheets and the room and the entire frigging building that made his eyes look so bright green and huge. Maybe it was just Tim. "I don't know why I'm not."

"Because you're smart, and you're stronger than anybody thinks you are, okay?"

Tim snorted softly. He scrubbed his face with a shivering hand.

"Think I'm kidding?" Tony hesitated, but let his hand rest carefully over Tim's bandaged left wrist. "I never would've guessed you would do what you did, taking my place as hostage because I was hurt. I trust you, Tim, you know that. But there are lines that even partners aren't expected to cross. Even Gibbs wouldn't have expected you to do something like that. It shocked the hell out of me, I'll be honest. Just yesterday you were my scared shitless little McProbie, crawling around on the ground looking up Kate's skirt and getting your ears pulled."

Tim smiled faintly.

Tony didn't. "I underestimated you, bad. And the Doughertys? Those shits probably saw those big ole puppydog eyes of yours and figured you would break, hard and fast. They were wrong. And none of us figured you would have the presence of mind to practically give us the address they were keeping you at the same time they were..." His eyes went to Tim's bandaged arm. His throat clenched around his words.

Bad enough when it was just screams in the background of a phone call, but now he knew what happened. Now he knew exactly what they'd been hearing. "...they were holding a flame to your arm and burning your fucking _skin _off..."

Tim drew in a ragged breath. "Stop."

Tony winced. _Get yourself together, asshole, before you make things worse._

Before he could speak, though, Tim looked up at Tony in sudden surprise. "Wait. You got my message? You understood, during that phone call...?"

Tony managed a smile. "Abby picked up on the Watson thing, Gibbs made out the Morse code...and hey. He told us how you learned Morse code, doing research for your book. You let him read your second book? He _wanted_ to read the second book? What the hell?"

Tim blinked. "I just...it was a favor he did for me. I wanted someone from NCIS to go over it. In case..." He shrugged. "After what happened with Landon Miller, I had to change it. All of it. And I needed to know the new version wouldn't get anyone killed."

"No more Agent Tommy?"

Tim almost smiled. "Well, I had to keep the main characters, otherwise it wouldn't be a sequel. But I took them...in different directions than before." He laughed suddenly, but it was sharp and high and wrong. "I can't believe that message worked. I can't believe..."

"Well, believe it. And believe me when I say that _you're _why you're still alive, Tim. You practically saved yourself."

Tim's laughter went even sharper, even wronger. "Saved myself too late." His chest was rising and falling faster, his eyes bright as his gaze wandered away from Tony. "Too late, and I knew..._knew_ I'd do it wrong. I didn't know what to say or do, how to make them leave me alone. If it had been you..."

Jolted by that, Tony reached out and gripped Tim's chin, turning his face back. "If it had been me I'd be dead. I sure as hell wouldn't have thought about some blind kid from years ago, and I don't know Morse code either way. I would've mouthed off one too many times and they would have killed me by now."

Tim pushed back against Tony's grip enough that Tony let go. His eyes went back to the ceiling. "I _should_ be dead. It was a fluke that they hadn't killed me yet. I_ knew_ I was going to die, Tony. I was...dealing with it."

Tony wasn't an idiot, or insensitive – he did know when jokes and smirks were inappropriate. Most of the time he didn't care, or else he figured some humor was necessary whether it was appropriate or not.

Sitting there with Tim, though, he kept wavering back and forth. The last thing he wanted was for Tim to think he was taking this lightly. On the other hand, he was Tim's friend. It was his job to make Tim feel better.

But right then he was also an agent and an ex-cop who got his own dumb ass into trouble enough to know what Tim was going through.

He knew what it was like to think it was all over, to be so sure he was going to die that he managed to reach some sort of peace with it. He knew what it was like to be at the mercy of men who had no mercy to speak of.

He knew what it was like to be bound and helpless, watching death step right up and take a swing without him even being able to struggle against it.

It was hard to joke about that feeling. It was impossible when dealing with a guy who was still going through it.

Even more impossible when Tony thought about how much he himself would have lost if he'd lost Tim to those bastards. How much he would have lost that he had never even suspected before.

Tim was part of the team. A partner, and a friend. A smart guy – smarter than Tony, and Tony was comfortable admitting that. Smart guy, good guy. Decent guy despite everything. Despite the job and the world that conspired to turn anyone into a cynical shit.

Five years on Gibbs' team and the worst Tim was capable of was some too-close-to-home sarcasm, and even that was rare and had to be earned.

Tony had traded up partners as a cop. He'd handled the transition from Kate to Ziva without much trouble beyond standard grief and guilt issues. He knew there were a dozen field-agent-wannabes in the ranks of the Norfolk computer nerds.

But he couldn't picture some other nerd in his Probie's place. He might have been able to three days ago, but now that he'd had a chance to consider it as a real possibility, he couldn't do it.

He wasn't sure why, either. But he wasn't about to fuck up so soon, make thoughtless jokes when Tim was in real pain. He told Gibbs he'd watch Tim, and he meant it. He had his back against his memories and whatever it was he went through, just as much as he had his back against a possible revenge-happy ginger intruder.

So even though serious wasn't the DiNozzo standard, Tony drew himself from his thoughts and looked seriously down at Tim. "So you managed to accept the idea that you were going to die. That's a good thing, Tim. Hold on to it, but only so it's there when you need it again. Right now? You can let it go."

"How do I do that?" Tim spoke hesitantly, and when Tony didn't give some knee-jerk answer he kept going. "I feel like I'm on borrowed time now. Worse, I feel like...like...damn, I don't even know."

Tony knew. "You feel like you borrowed that time from Dougherty. Like somehow you owe him something, because he had the chance to kill you but didn't do it. Like he's got some marker of yours and he can pop in and cash it out whenever he wants."

Tim thought about that. He nodded, slow and surprised. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess that's it. You know that Chinese philosophy about saving a person's life?"

Tony smiled faintly. "Green Hornet. Kato. Bruce Lee." It wasn't a movie, but sometimes classic TV was just as good as classic Hollywood.

And Tim, bless his geeky heart, nodded instantly. "Yeah. Kato's got to spend his life following Britt Reid around because Reid saved his life once. He's got to tag along with this spoiled rich guy and kick asses on his behalf because he owes him."

Tony laughed softly. "As much as I welcome a reference from you that I actually understand, you're not Kato. He didn't save your life, Tim – he just didn't kill you. There's a big difference there, and you don't owe him a damned thing."

"It's not like I feel I owe him something. I just...it feels like he's still here. Like he's got a hold on me."

"That's bullshit. You saved _yourself_. Maybe you owe Gibbs a little for deciphering that message of yours. You might owe Abby for remembering a blind kid making some comment about bats. But Dougherty?"

Tim's voice shook. "I knew the minute Clancy Dougherty was dead that I wasn't going to survive. I _knew_ it."

"Hey. Look." Tony wasn't sure if it was the need to protect Tim or to spare them both this trauma so soon after the last traumas, but he spoke sharply. "I said it'll keep, Tim. Don't worry about it right now."

Tim hesitated. "You're worried about it," he said.

"Me? I don't worry about anything."

"You keep calling me Tim."

Tony pasted a smile on his face, bland as he could manage. "We all deal with guilt in our own way. Get used to it."

Tim regarded him, green eyes still way too wide. Too intent, really, given what he'd gone through and knowing the kind of pain meds he was probably on. Tony didn't know how he did that – focus like that, when there should have been every reason in the world not to focus.

_Intense,_ he remembered suddenly.

Intense, Abby had said. And Tony really needed to stop thinking about that in these random moments. That conversation was sticking around to bite him in the ass, and he didn't appreciate it.

He reached out and lay his hand over Tim's bandaged wrist carefully. "Forget about it, at least for tonight. Go to sleep, man. You've had a long week."

Tim flashed a faint, humorless smile and sank back, letting his heavy eyes close. After a moment he pushed them back open. "Is Jethro okay?"

"I rescued him myself." Tony rolled his eyes as if it had been a chore to break into Tim's apartment...and then he thought about dicks on DVD covers, and _intense_, and for Christ's sake, anyway. He cleared his throat. "He's at the Navy Yard, keeping Abs company."

Tim seemed to want to smile, but he sighed instead and let his eyes shut without prying them back open again.

Tony looked at him for a long time, memorizing those bruises on his face to store up. To fuel himself when he ran into Colin Dougherty.

Tim was handling it well, at least right now, but this was baggage he shouldn't have to carry. He was a geek, not a cop. The helpless bound-and-waiting feelings, that grim knowledge of what it felt like to _know_ that death was at hand, those shouldn't have ever found a guy like Tim.

He sat there until his back complained, and when he got up from his perch on the bed it was only to move to the chair beside the bed. Except he did go from staring at Tim as he slept to staring from Tim to the door and back.

If Colin was stupid enough to show up, and rash enough to show up on night one, Tony was ready and waiting.

* * *

"Tony. I hear you're the one who shot our second Mr. Dougherty," was Ducky's soft greeting when Tony showed up at the Navy Yard the next day, Ziva safely in place on guard duty at the hospital.

Ducky's quiet tone struck Tony more than anything. He hesitated, because he wasn't ready to talk about it yet. "Yep. And you autopsied him," he answered in the same tone.

Ducky nodded. Understanding was in his eyes. Unlike Palmer, he took one look at Tony's face and seemed to just know everything he needed to know.

In a way Tony was glad – Duck was tactful at least, and he wouldn't need to go through facts out loud that both of them knew were true. Tony didn't want to talk about it, but he didn't want to let Ducky's contribution to Tim's recovery go unnoticed, either.

"How is Timothy, then?" Ducky asked after a moment, voice no longer soft or private.

"He's dealing," Tony answered with a shrug, moving past Ducky and around the corner to his desk. "He's tough. Don't worry about him."

The squad room was empty – Ziva was at the hospital and Abby was either on her way to join her, or still in the lab. Tony would bet money that Gibbs was upstairs in MTAC on some lead.

Quiet didn't bother Tony, though. He was used to working in the half-lights surrounded by empty cubicles and hibernating computers. He kept his focus better that way, and that day he had to be focused.

He had to get Colin Dougherty.

"His youngest brother is downstairs."

Tony blinked over at Ducky. "You reading minds now, doc?"

Ducky smiled, small and mirthless. "Credit me with understanding how live brains operate as well as I understand dead ones."

Tony smiled back, but realized what it was Ducky had said and his smile muted. "Wait, his youngest brother? They found the bodies from the creek? Clancy and whoever the mystery blood belonged to?" He was up and around the desk in a flash.

"Late yesterday afternoon." Ducky walked him back to the elevator. "Clancy Dougherty and an unfortunate elderly woman who stopped to do a good deed for the wrong men."

"Damn it."

On the ride down to the morgue, Ducky made as if he as going to speak a couple of different times. Tony tensed each time, knowing what would be most on Ducky's mind after the autopsy yesterday.

He really didn't want to stop the elevator and do the Gibbs-office thing. Not about this. He couldn't think about Colin Dougherty without wanting to see someone bleeding, he sure as hell wasn't in any mindset to talk about Conor, and how Tony found his Probie.

Ducky didn't speak, thankfully, and only sighed a bit when the elevator doors opened without Tony saying anything.

Palmer was already at work, elbow-deep in innards. Tony grinned at him the way he wanted to grin at Ducky but couldn't. Palmer wouldn't make him talk about anything, and wouldn't give those little sighs or solemn looks.

"Morning, Agent DiNozzo." Palmer greeted him almost absently. "Doctor Mallard, I think you were right."

"Oh?" Ducky moved past Tony, back in his own environment. He regarded the body on the table beside Palmer.

Tony's grin stretched broader when he saw the dull red hair that belonged to that body.

Two down, one to go.

Ducky bent and studied the body, and sighed again. He straightened a moment later. "Useless to speculate, of course. Needless as well, in this case at least. The mysteries shall all be cleared up in due time."

Tony frowned. "What mysteries?"

"What do you think?" Without even the ding of the elevator as a warning, Gibbs was suddenly so close behind Tony that his voice was barely above a murmur and it still made Tony jump. "The mystery of what the hell happened out there."

"Hey. Boss." Tony flashed a smile as his heart tried to stop racing. "I told you on the phone last night, Tim was wiped out. I couldn't ask him - with the drugs he was on he would've told me the whole thing was the work of underpants gnomes if he even could have answered."

Gibbs stared at him for a beat. Two beats. "Underpants gnomes."

Tony shrugged. "They have good drugs there."

Gibbs met his eyes long enough that Tony knew he wasn't buying it, but he turned to Ducky and let Tony off the hook. "Talk to me, Duck."

"As I was saying, Jethro, speculation is really quite useless here. Timothy will be able to give a full accounting soon enough."

"Why don't you indulge yourself. I know how much you enjoy speculation."

Ducky hesitated, but smiled. "I do. I must admit, I do. It's the very soul of our jobs here. For every poor victim wheeled through my door, what ends with documentation of proof must begin with simple speculation."

Gibbs gave him a hard look. "Pretend there's a maniac on the loose gunning for one of my people."

Ducky lifted a hand, palm out, in surrender. "If I were to speculate, then, knowing that only limited evidence is available to verify my theories, I would say these two people were killed in very different ways."

"They were both shot. In fact, they were both shot in the throat, if the cops who brought them in are credible witnesses." Gibbs glanced at the dead Dougherty.

Dead Doughertys. Good name for a band. Tony'd have to remember that when this NCIS thing got old.

"Indeed. But I repeat, in very different ways." Ducky gestured for Gibbs.

Tony went along, moving around behind the table so he could lean over the Dead Dougherty and catch Ducky's wild speculations.

"To the untrained eye – well, even to the trained one - this appears a fairly clean entry wound." Ducky nodded his thanks to Palmer when a pair of gloves were held out from behind Tony.

He slipped them on and took hold of Dougherty's neck, lifting his limp head a bit to call attention to the hole in his throat. "I only looked twice at it because the bullet itself is lodged at an angle that was obvious on X-Ray. Before I get that bullet out I'd like to measure the entry wound and confirm the trajectory of the bullet."

"Why?" Gibbs asked with patience that Tony would really just_ once_ like to be on the receiving end of.

"Because of the angle. The angle was caused by the bullet itself moving very subtly from left to right as it tore through this man."

"And that means something important that you're going to get around to telling me any minute now."

"Patience, Jethro. What it means is that the gun this bullet was fired from was moving very rapidly when the shot was fired. Rapidly from right to left, in motion at the exact moment the bullet was fired. The motion of the gun translated to the bullet – nearly imperceptible by the time it struck a target."

Tony frowned, picturing the motion of the gun. Fast from right to left as the trigger was pulled.

Gibbs grimaced even as Tony's brain bulb lit up. "Meaning that the gun was probably aimed somewhere else, and got knocked away from its target."

"In the most tentative hypothetical estimate...yes. I would say that's a good guess. And then came this poor old girl." Ducky moved around to the table behind Tony, and Tony slipped in to get the ringside view. Gibbs slid in on Ducky's other side.

Old lady, yeah. Luckily she had that mean pinched-mouth lifetime-smoker type of old lady look, so Tony didn't bother thinking solemnly about poor granny.

Ducky lifted her head gently, twisting just enough. "You see, not only was she shot in the neck, she was shot in nearly the exact same place as your dead suspect. Too close to be coincidental. And then there are these." His gloved fingertip carefully brushed feather-light over angry pocked marks around the wound.

"Powder burns," Tony murmured.

Gibbs met his eyes over Ducky's shoulder. "Someone did this from up close."

"Just short of actually having the barrel pressed against her skin," Ducky agreed.

Tony stared at the burns for a long moment, the scenario coming alive in his mind. Gibbs would be two steps ahead of him, and Ducky had been two steps ahead this whole time, but he spoke out loud anyway.

"So...Colin or Conor. They were going to shoot the lady there when she stopped to offer them help. Tim tried to stop them, pushed the gun away. The bullet went through Clancy and killed him almost instantly."

He realized he had his hand up, miming holding a gun, absently mimicking his arm being knocked aside. He moved up to the dead old lady and held his hand out, invisible gun right against her throat.

"Both brothers probably freaked the fuck out. Taught Tim a lesson by getting right up on the old lady he'd been trying to save, and point-blank shooting her exactly where the stray bullet caught Clancy." He pulled an invisible trigger.

He tried to imagine what happened next, but couldn't. Didn't want to. Tim would have been horrified, the brothers would have dealt with him however they wanted to as they dragged old lady and dead brother deeper into the trees and dumped them into the creek.

Somehow Tim's badge and Gibbs' phone ended up covered in blood and sitting at the side of the water.

He drew in a breath and lowered his hand, staring blankly at the woman's corpse. "He knew he was dead, that's what he said. The minute Clancy was shot Tim _knew_ he was dead."

Tony looked up after a moment and found two pairs of eyes on him. He didn't blush often, but his cheeks went warm right then.

Still, it was worth talking about, so he kept on. "They probably made Tim think that planting his badge would get us off their trail. Hell, they might have believed that themselves, at least that night."

"No," Gibbs muttered. He looked down at the old lady. "They knew it wouldn't work. Colin told me on the phone that he knew I'd've figured out it wasn't McGee in the water by then. It wasn't a real plan. Just a spur of the moment reaction to the wrong guy getting shot."

"And no doubt they were pissed at dumping Clancy's body like trash. Blamed Tim for that, too." Tony hated the Doughertys. He fucking hated everything about them. "So they called you and burned up Tim's arm so he'd scream pretty for you, like maybe _that_ will get us off their trail."

"Instead Tim faked panic so they wouldn't look at him too hard, and while he was babbling he managed to send us a message." Gibbs shook his head after a moment. "Duck, thanks for the information, but right now if it's not going to help us catch Colin, I don't want to waste time with it. Tony."

Tony flashed Ducky and Palmer a grimace of a smile as he followed his boss to the elevator. "He's not dumb enough to visit any other old flames from high school. But he's not smart enough to have gone too far. He's gonna want revenge on someone."

"On Tim. In his head McGee might as well have pulled the trigger on Clancy, and he might even have guessed by now that Tim's words on the phone gave us some kind of clue, since we found them so soon after that call."

Tony exchanged a grim look with his boss. "He's going to try to get to Tim."

Gibbs nodded once, and their immediate plans instantly changed.

The elevator took too damned long, and when the doors opened on the squad room neither of them moved. The doors shut again, and Gibbs pounded the button to the parking garage.

"The doctors aren't going to want to sign him out this soon," Tony mentioned, figuring he had the breath to waste.

Gibbs didn't even grace that with an answer.

They both knew well enough how easily Leroy Jethro Gibbs could run over someone who tried to stand between him and an agent in trouble.


	7. Chapter 7

The first sign that something was wrong came when they got off the elevator onto the seventh floor, where Tim's room was.

Tony took one look at the cluster of security uniforms gathered around the front desk of the wing and his heart gave a heavy thump. "Shit."

Gibbs didn't bother taking the time to emote, he was past Tony and in the midst of the uniforms in a flash. "Gibbs, NCIS. I have an agent on this floor. What's going on?"

"Mr. McGee is your agent?" The nurse behind the desk was the solid, thirty-years-on-the-job kind who wasn't flustered by much of anything. She stood there in the midst of the hospital security staff and regarded Gibbs like he was just another interloper on her flood.

"Special Agent McGee, and yes. I won't ask a third time – what's going on?"

The nurse – Eloise, her tag read, which seemed to fit – nodded back towards the corridor leading to the rooms. "You'd have to ask the psychotic woman holding him hostage in his room. All I know is that someone from that room called for security, and--"

Tony was already gone, so if she kept talking he didn't hear it. He found another couple of uniformed private security guys standing in the hallway near Tim's door, and he charged past them without even hearing their call for him to stop.

Gun in his hand, though he didn't remember pulling it out, he glanced back just long enough to see Gibbs right behind him, and he reached out and twisted the knob and flung the door open.

"Stop right---Tony!"

A blur of black and hot pink launched himself, and Tony luckily had good enough instincts to jerk the barrel of his gun down and away from her. "Abby?"

She plowed into him, but the hug was a millisecond long before she jumped back and glowered at him and at Gibbs as he stood back and took stock of the situation. "Where were you?"

"What's going on here?" Gibbs asked in turn, moving past Tony and Abby to the bed.

Tim sat straight up in bed, his face pale but his eyes sharp. "Got a phone call a few minutes ago."

Tony slipped out of Abby's grasp and around the bed to his other side. "Dougherty."

Tim nodded.

Tony cursed to himself. The guy was playing games, sticking close and making himself known already. Damn it. If he wasn't even taking the time to plan and regroup, he must've been more desperate for revenge than even Tony thought.

He was a man with nothing left to lose. That made him the most dangerous kind of psycho on the planet.

Abby spoke when Tim didn't seem eager to offer more detail. "Wouldn't have been a big surprise, really, except the phones up here don't dial out or receive calls from outside lines."

Gibbs cursed under his breath. "He's in the hospital."

"Was." Abby shrugged. "That was like ten minutes ago."

"Why the hell didn't anyone call me?"

"There wasn't time." Abby moved past him to Tim's side. She lay a hand on his shoulder, not seeming to notice when he tensed. "Ziva ran off to hunt him down, and I've been keeping those uniformed fascists out there from barging in as if they're going to be any help at all."

Gibbs already had his phone in his hand, pressing the speed dial. "David. Report."

He listened for a moment and his face hardened. "Just get back up here, then." The phone snapped shut and slid back into his pocket. "No sign of him. She's trying to get security tapes pulled."

"Isn't that a good idea?" Abby asked, hand possessive on Tim as she faced them.

"We know what he looks like, Abby! It's not like he had to do a magic trick to get in and out of a public hospital. Son of a _bitch_." Gibbs' glare snapped over to Tony. "I want this asshole. I want him on the other side of an interrogation table, and I want him there _five minutes ago_."

"You won't get any argument from me." Tony hesitated, looking over at Tim. Too quiet, too pale. "What did he say to you?"

"He didn't tell me where he was going, Tony."

"What did he say?" Gibbs asked more sharply.

Tim looked away from all of them, staring straight out in front of him. His face was way too blank. "Nothing you wouldn't expect."

Gibbs opened his mouth instantly to bark a command, but hesitated. His eyes flickered Tony's way.

Tony sat down on the edge of the bed, regarding Tim. "Anything might help."

Wounded green eyes glanced at him and then looked down fast. There wasn't a muscle in Tim's body not thrumming with tension, and it showed in his voice. "You know, I caught something about him plowing my virgin ass and something about making me scream, and then I just sort of stopped listening."

Tony was off the bed before he consciously realized he was going to move. "That bastard is dead." His gun was back in his hand in a flash and he was at the door before even Gibbs could react.

"He's gone." Ziva, about to come in at the same moment Tony threw the door open to leave, took in the look on his face and the gun in his hand and simply pushed him back into the room as she entered. "Believe me, he's gone."

"You searched the entire hospital?" he asked, voice harsh.

She simply looked at him as she shut the door and leaned back against it. "If he were still in this hospital there would be nothing left of him for you to kill. Because I would have found him first."

Tony was stuck for a moment – his entire body was keyed up, hungry to go plant fists in that son of a bitch's face. It took him a long moment to accept that it wasn't going to happen, to settle himself down even enough to turn away from the door.

"What now?" Ziva asked Gibbs. Her disappointment at not catching Dougherty showed in the sharpness of her words.

Gibbs' eyes were on Tim, and stayed there for a beat too long before he answered Ziva. "Abby. Find his doctor and get them started on an AMA form. We're getting McGee out of here, that's for damned sure. Ziva, break up that security-guard circle out there. Get them to pull the tapes tracking Colin – start with exterior cameras. See if we can't figure out what he's driving."

The two women took off – Ziva's determination was no surprise, but Abby leaving to obey orders without even a word was a sign of how much this had shaken her up.

Gibbs turned back to Tim once the door was shut. "We can't be sure what Dougherty knows and doesn't know about you already. Your place isn't safe."

Tim pushed his eyes up to meet Gibbs' stare. Heavy, like he had to force it, and Tony edged a little closer to him so he could face Gibbs alongside his partner. "Fine, I'll go to the Navy Yard."

"Eventually."

"I'm not hurt so badly that I can't work, boss." Once his eyes were up Tim seemed to be able to hold Gibbs' gaze steadily.

"Ask me tomorrow."

"Boss."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "I'm done with this subject, Tim."

Tony had lined himself up to face Gibbs down alongside Tim, but he didn't find himself eager to argue on this point. He half-turned to look down at Tim, almost reaching to touch his arm but remembering how quickly Tim had tensed when Abby touched him.

"Hey, you can come crash at my place. I'll make a grocery run for cheesecake, we can watch old Golden Girls episodes and braid each other's hair, it'll be great."

Tim glanced over, incredulous.

Tony shrugged with a smile. "I always liked Blanche. When I'm eighty I hope there's a woman like that in my life."

"DiNozzo."

Tony ignored Gibbs to keep his focus on Tim, and was rewarded a few moments later when Tim relaxed just a little bit, and his mouth quirked upwards.

Tony grinned. "Good, decided." He indulged himself enough to pat Tim's upper arm – the un-bandaged part – and his grin grew when Tim didn't flinch away or lose his faint smile.

"McGee's staying at my place, DiNozzo." Gibbs cut in, sounding almost amused himself. "There's nothing saying your apartment is any safer than McGee's right now."

"So why would your house be?" Tony asked, grin fading.

"Because it's my house," Gibbs answered flatly.

Tony hesitated, but as much as he wanted to there wasn't a real argument against that.

No, wait! "Boss, we can't leave him alone, and I know you're going to be at the Navy Yard all day looking for Dougherty. The search can spare me easier than you."

Gibbs regarded him. He sighed. "I get cable at my place, Tony."

Tony beamed. "Golden Girls fest is _on_! You better get good reception through all the sawdust in the air over there, boss."

Gibbs shook his head and cast Tim a wry look. "You okay putting up with this all night?" he asked, jerked a thumb Tony's way.

Tim looked from him to Tony. "I always liked Dorothy," he mentioned, locking eyes with Tony and smiling uncertainly.

Tony sat down on the edge of the bed. "Bea Arthur. Good call."

Gibbs rolled his eyes at both of them and headed for the door.

* * *

"Tony?"

He straightened from the wall and flashed a smile at Abby as she came out. "Get kicked out too?"

She nodded, glaring behind her. "You'd think Timmy was dying or something, instead of just getting lectured about informed choices. They take this against-medical-advice thing pretty seriously here." She looked back at Tony, glare softening. "It is safe, isn't it? For him to leave?"

"Sure. We've got Ducky if anything big comes up, and we'll bring him back here so they can check on his arm. He's in more danger from Dougherty than from his injuries, Abs."

She relaxed. "Where are...?"

"Gibbs went to get his place ready. We're having a boy's night in tonight." Tony grinned. "Ziva's still with hospital security, getting her kicks ordering them around."

Abby nodded, coming up and sitting heavily down in a waiting room chair while the doctor made sure Tim was in his right mind and fully aware of his risks if he checked out AMA.

Tony settled back, eyes wandering to a poster on the wall that diagrammed proper ways to dispose of old medications. He hated hospitals, and not just because they usually meant him or someone he was pretty fond of was hurt or sick. He just hated the awkwardness of them. No one in those halls seemed to speak. No one smiled.

Every person you passed in a hospital might have just lost someone, or found out they had cancer, or some damned thing. It was grim. Tony didn't do grim well.

"You know..."

"Mmm?" He looked over. "What do I know?"

Abby hesitated. "Twenty minutes ago, Tim was..."

"What, Abs?"

She frowned, leaning back against the wall and peering at him with overly solemn eyes. "You didn't see the look on his face when he answered that phone, Tony. And despite what you might think, Tim doesn't get scared so easy."

"I don't think he does," Tony protested.

"The point is...he was really freaked out. And ten minutes later I come in and he's smiling and talking about some old TV show."

Tony grinned.

"I think I should stay with him tonight."

Tony's grin faded. "Sorry, Abs. The plans are locked in stone."

"Look, Tony. Tim needs to be able to focus on getting better, right? He doesn't need to worry about faking smiles and pretending he's okay, just to impress you. And he does that when you're around, so..."

"What?" Tony blinked, surprised. "He wasn't faking anything. I know he's not okay, and I'm the last guy who'd tell him he should be after what he went through."

"It doesn't matter what you tell him." She stood up suddenly, hands going to her hips as she regarded him. "Tim's been your good little Probie for five years, Tony. Some things are reflex by now, and one of those things is him tempering his emotions around you out of fear of mockery."

"Hey." Tony straightened from the wall, all traces of humor gone. "That's not fair, Abs. Tim isn't the delicate oversensitive little flower you think he is. If I go too far joking around with him, he gives it right back even harder. And that's not even the point right here, because he knows perfectly well I'm not about to mock him over any of this."

"Yeah? How would he know that?"

"He knows." Tony regarded her with narrowed eyes. "You think ten minutes without you in the room made him turn on some protective shell that let him force smiles and pretend to laugh?"

Abby's face was fierce. "How else do you explain it?"

Tony glared right back at her. "I'm _funny_."

"Yeah, Tony. You're funny about the wrong things."

There was just enough truth in that that Tony winced. "I'm not a bastard. Yeah, I joke around sometimes when no one thinks it's appropriate. That doesn't make me some calloused asshole."

"Maybe not. Not all the time." Abby folded her arms across her chest. "But it makes you bad for Tim, especially right now."

"Bullshit."

They faced each other, both unwilling to back down.

Tony knew Abby could be rash and overprotective. He'd known her for years, he'd seen it. He also knew that her emotions regarding Tim more than any of them could run boiling hot or ice cold, depending on her mood and the state of their current relationship.

She seemed to regard Tim as hers, which Tony understood somewhat. They were together for a while – a _little_ while – and Tim obviously nursed a crush on her longer than she did for him. Abby wasn't blind, and now and then she used his affection for her own benefit.

It used to amuse Tony, really. It was a reminder to him why he didn't bother trying to stay friends with any woman he broke up with.

Abby'd told Tony the other day that she and Tim broke up because he wanted to be needed, and she didn't want to need anyone. But Abby wasn't stupid – she'd eventually grow out of the partying and the graveyard hook-ups, and when she did get to the point where she was ready to need someone, she wanted Tim to be that someone.

So in the meantime she strung him along in different ways, kept him interested, got jealous when he looked at other women and got furious when he said or did something that implied he might be less-than-perfect eventual-boyfriend material.

The funny thing was, Abby was one of the kindest people in the world. She truly loved Tim, and Tony figured she didn't consciously realize how she treated him. Hell, if he told her flat out how she treated him she'd never believe it.

But that didn't mean Tony had to sit around and take it. He didn't have to be on the receiving end of her strange future-wife attitude towards McGee. Not when she was dead wrong about him.

About both of them.

Tony met her sharp gaze and spoke, quiet but firm. "He's my partner. He knows he can rely on me. He has to know it, or this team wouldn't work the way it does. You don't get that, okay? You're not part of the team. You're as close as anyone outside it could get, but you still don't get it."

Her angry expression dulled with a flicker of hurt.

He held up a hand. "Don't pull the wounded act. You know we all love the hell out of you. But there's a line, okay? The line that Tim, Ziva and I cross by going out in the field with Gibbs day after day after day, hunting murderers and risking death every single time with only each other for backup. You know us, Abs, but do you know how we'll react if some killer pulls a gun on you? Do you know how you'd react if one of us was in danger?"

She frowned. "I'm not talking about hunting killers right now."

"I am. Because it makes a difference. You think we do what we do day after day without knowing each other? No, that's not even it, is it? You think he trusts me not to get him killed in the field but won't trust me to watch his back now."

She hesitated, uncertainty finally flickering in her eyes. "You do hurt him, you know. You go too far, Tony."

"Not about this. You don't even have to worry about that."

"Why not?"

He only stopped himself from snapping at her because what was behind her eyes was genuine concern. She really needed to know. Maybe she was stringing Tim along, maybe not, but she loved him and she really wanted to know he would be okay.

"Because," he said finally. "I was bleeding in a stairwell with three guns in my face, and he walked right up and took it on himself. He saved me, Abs. Everything that happened to him should have happened to me, and would have happened to me a thousand times worse. I can't think of brilliant ways to pass secret messages through phone calls, and I'm an idiot who can't keep his mouth shut, which with the Doughertys would have been more than enough to earn a bullet in the brain."

He smiled suddenly, remembering a conversation with Tim just a day ago. "He probably saved my life, so...so now I'm Kato."

"You're what? I don't follow."

"But Tim does, and I do, and that's all that matters." He closed the space between them, squeezing her arms and meeting her eyes with complete sincerity. "You don't have to worry about Tim, Abs. Not while he's with me."

She met his eyes with all the focus she'd developed after years of studying the most microscopic physical evidence imaginable. "You'd better be right, Tony."


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's note - This is a long, quiet kind of chapter. No worries - action will pick up in the next part. As always thank you everyone for the feedback and the favoriting. I know slash fans typically like their boys to get together quicker than this, but sometimes it's nice to take it slow, yeah? :-) _

_Anyway, bear with me. We'll get there. _

* * *

"You're serious?" The baffled, amused look on Tim's face made the twenty-minute argument with Gibbs totally worth it.

Tony laid the cheesecake down on the kitchen table with a flourish. "I never joke about the Girls."

Tim looked from him to the cheesecake to the television in the living room, in sight of the table. "You're telling me Gibbs just happened to have a cheesecake in his fridge?"

"Nope, I made him pick one up."

Tim stared at Tony for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation."

Tony chuckled. "I've had easier root canals," he admitted. But, worth it. Entirely, for that first stunned look and the laughter still making Tim's shoulders shake. If he had his phone on him he'd've snapped a quick picture and sent it to Gibbs as proof.

Gibbs and Abby both.

Tony sliced a couple of hunks of cheesecake bigger than anything a normal man could eat in one sitting. He slapped them on plates, and that was worth it to for the grin Tim flashed when he set his piece beside him.

"You expect me to eat that?"

"I'm probably overcompensating a little, maybe," Tony admitted, stabbing a fork straight up into the middle of the piece.

"Yeah? For what?" Some flash of..._something..._threatened Tim's smile.

Tony met his eyes earnestly. "Well, one, I'm not entirely sure there _is_ a Golden Girls marathon on anywhere. And two, neither of us have hair long enough to braid. So I might have lured you here under false pretences."

Tim's eyebrows shot up, and the darkness slipped back into hiding. "Tony. You're an idiot."

Tony nodded cheerfully. He grabbed both plates and nudged Tim's arm as he past. "Come on, we can find some kind of mindless afternoon television to watch, anyway."

The offerings were sparse – not a Golden Girls episode in sight. In the end they had to choose between some English-translated animé series for kids and a documentary about the search for Bigfoot. Tony would've gone for the cartoon himself, but he took his company into account and flipped it back to the History Channel.

He tossed the remote on Gibbs' heavy, worn coffee table and sat back, kicking his feet up and resting the cheesecake on his stomach.

"This feels naughty," he said as he looked at his own feet on his boss's furniture.

"Like faking sick to get out of school and spending all day watching TV," Tim agreed.

Tony grinned. "You? Faked sick to get out of school? I'm shocked, McMultiple-Degrees."

Tim took a bit of cheesecake and smiled through it. "Even nerdy kids are still kids, Tony." His smile went crooked. "I never did it a lot, though. And I'm not really getting out of work now."

"No?"

"Abby's going to bring Jethro over tonight. I asked her to bring me one of the work laptops when she comes by. There's still work I can be doing to help, even if Gibbs won't let me go in."

Tony scraped the tines of his fork over the surface of his cheesecake, trying to be casual. "Think that's a good idea?"

"Yes." Tim's answer was firm. "I'm not going to endanger a skin graft by typing on a computer." He leaned over to set his cheesecake on the coffee table. "We've got to catch this guy, and I'm not going to sit around like some traumatized_ victim_ and let you guys do all the work."

Tony grunted an answer.

It probably was a good idea, at least for Tim's state of mind. He glanced over and watched Tim's bandaged arms. His right hand was absently massaging the two little fingers of his left, and Tony winced to think about nerve damage.

Maybe Tim wanted the computer just to prove to himself he could still use one.

Nah, dumb thought. Colin could have cut those two fingers clean off and Tim would still be okay enough to get his geek on. He'd just teach himself to type without using those fingers. Other people could count him out all they wanted, but Tony knew his stubborn Probie.

Considering it was a History Channel documentary, the Bigfoot thing wasn't half bad. They did all kinds of weird experiments around those videos from twenty years ago showing grainy footage of big monkeys on two feet walking through distant trees.

But he couldn't focus on it very long. He was hyper-aware of the person sitting next to him, and he couldn't get his brain to shut down enough to just watch TV – usually not a problem for Tony.

He kept thinking about the talk with Abby before they left the hospital, and her telling him days ago that Tim _knew_ Tony didn't like him.

Abby was a female, and she thought like a female. If Tim went to her to bitch about being picked on, she would read too much into it and think Tim felt permanently wronged. She didn't realize that guys just naturally gave each other shit. Sometimes they bitched about it, sure, but not because they expected it to just stop.

That's all it was. They were guys, she was a girl, and she read too much into it.

Still.

Tim didn't tell any of them about his book.

Well. That wasn't entirely true. Tim told Tony he was a writer. Hell, Tony even saw the cover page of Deep Six once, when he and Kate had been messing with the Probie by breaking into his place early to drag him in to work.

Tim just hadn't told them it was an actual finished book. Or that he had found an agent. Or that it sold to a publisher. Or that it was released and became a best-seller and made him a shitload of money.

Tony had looked it up once, after the Landon Miller case was over. It had been frigging surreal seeing the book up on Amazon, seeing it in the low double digits for sales rankings. Seeing that it had dozens of reviews, and most of them were really good.

He'd even got a chuckle out of some of the bad reviews that bitched about the characters being stereotypes and the situations being unrealistic.

Man. If Tony had been the one featured on international websites and making tons of money and getting reviewed in the New York Times, there was no way his head would have stayed small enough to come to work and take shit off everyone. He'd've kept working, sure – he was a cop. Cops had to work. But he never would have let anyone there forget what a big shot he was outside of that building.

That was the good thing about Tim, though. He kept coming in, he kept his trap shut, and when he had enough of Tony's mocking he simply reacted as he always had – giving it back one step harder. He didn't change.

Tony was proud of him, really. Even for the way he snapped, the too-harsh blows he could deal out when he was tired of being made fun of. Even that was just one more way Tony had trained him.

Tim had come to NCIS thinking the way to respond to sarcasm was to blush and apologize and let it embarrass him. Along with lessons on crime scenes and profiling and suspect hunting and interrogation techniques, Tony had also taught his Probie about giving back as good as he got.

By now Tim had made Tony flinch a time or two, and that was a good thing. To an outsider maybe it wouldn't be – to Abby, if she'd been around when Tim was letting Tony have it, it wouldn't have been good at all. But Tony got it.

Tony got it. Snarky little comments about Tony not rating a team of his own – for all the momentary sting they caused Tony – were forgotten fast when he remembered that he _did_ have a team for a while, and that Tim more than anyone was damned proud to be a part of it.

If Tim brought up Jeanne in some throwaway statement that Abby would have elbowed him for, Tony only had to remember Claire.

They were guys, that was all. They did stupid calloused unthinking stuff to each other. They said things designed to hurt, and then they face a bad guy side by side and forgot insults in the name of protecting each other.

If Tony got a promotion and a team of his own tomorrow, Tim would be proud as all hell and probably a little conflicted about following Tony or staying with Gibbs. And if Jeanne came around wanting Tony back, Tim would be the geekiest best man ever.

Tim might have griped to Abby about being from a different world than the other agents, but then...Tim had looked at him across a yellow-lit basement and trusted him to keep the kind of secret that men just did not trust each other with.

And maybe Tony gave his Probie shit, but Tony would also keep that secret, no matter what. From _Gibbs_ he would keep that secret.

"_Tony, please..."_

Shit.

Well, there was his good mood down the toilet.

There went Bigfoot and cheesecake. Tony was back, just like that, in that basement with that same tunnel vision. Unable to see anything but the flex of muscles in Conor's pale white Irish ass.

If they'd gotten there ten minutes sooner, it wouldn't have happened. Ten minutes earlier Tony might have caught Conor on the staircase heading down. Might've been able to shoot him and watch him flop down the stairs and land, dead before he could...

Tony frowned sharply then, remembering – ten minutes earlier would have been soon enough to stop Conor right then, but it might not have been the first time. It might not have just been Conor.

He swallowed quickly rising fury. "What else did they do to you?"

Tim flinched at the abrupt words. "Tony."

"What else, Tim? I have to know." Tony couldn't take his eyes off the TV, though he had no idea what was on the screen. He couldn't look over, he couldn't risk Tim making him lose his sudden focus. "I have to know exactly what it is I'm killing Colin for when I find him."

Tim sat up. "I don't need you killing anyone for me. I don't need you defending my honor like I'm some kind of--"

"Damn it, it should have been me, Tim. I should've been the one down there, and--"

"No. You shouldn't have." Tim leaned over and grabbed the remote awkwardly with his right hand, muting the sound fast. He turned to Tony with a sharp look, as if Tony had ruined some mood. As if in the absent passive act of watching TV Tim's mind hadn't been back in that basement too.

"You don't get to do that, okay? So shut up and watch the stupid show."

"I don't get to do what? Accept responsibility?"

"Yes!" Tim dropped the remote back on the table with a clatter, and stood up unsteadily. "Because it wasn't your move, Tony. It was mine. It was my choice, and it was the right one. It wasn't your call, so it's not your fault. Okay?"

Tony shook his head, lips pushing tight closed to keep from lashing out at exactly the wrong guy. "It doesn't work like that, Tim."

"Yes, it does. That's exactly how it works." Tim moved fast - too fast, he had to still be sore and groggy from medication. But he was almost to the doorway that led to the back rooms before Tony could speak up.

"Where are you going?"

"To rest, like the doctor said."

Tony stood up, quickly shoving the plate of dessert onto the coffee table. "Tim, come on, man."

Tim didn't even hesitate. "Tell Abby to leave the laptop out here, I'll set it up in the morning."

"It's not even five o'clock yet," Tony tried, loud and fast as Tim disappeared down the back hallway.

Nothing. Footsteps, and the quiet sound of the door to the guest room clicking shut.

Shit.

* * *

Jethro eyed Tony as he trotted through the front door. His gaze moved around the unfamiliar house, his nose worked, picking up scents out of the air.

Before Abby had shut the door behind her Jethro had caught some scent that made his tail shoot up and start thumping hard. He darted past Tony deeper into the house, barking.

Abby grinned at Tony, bright and sincere though she seemed tired. It was enough to let Tony know that she didn't hold any hard feelings from their argument earlier, but then he hadn't expected her to.

"Where's Timmy?"

"Resting." Tony returned her grin, glad for the interruption of the heavy silence that had thickened the air in the house since Tim had stormed back to the bedroom earlier. "I'm supposed to tell you to leave the laptop out here."

She snorted as quickly as he knew she would. "Yeah, right. The guest room down here, or upstairs?" She moved past him without waiting for an answer, probably figuring Gibbs wouldn't put an invalid into an upstairs bedroom.

"Where's the boss?"

"He wasn't very far behind me, I don't think. And he's in a mood, so you might want to erase any evidence that you actually put your dirty feet on his furniture."

Tony's eyes darted to the coffee table. "How'd you--"

She grinned over her shoulder and vanished down the hall.

Tony was half-tempted to follow her back there, but he resisted the urge. Maybe Abs could bring Tim out, maybe not, but he sure didn't need her picking up on any tension so soon after she accused him of being untrustworthy regarding her Timmy's well-being.

He heard the scratch of excited paws against a wooden door, and moments later he heard Abby's soft knock.

He moved back to the couch, listening a little too hard. There was a beat, and then two, and then another quiet knock.

"Timmy?"

Tony almost held his breath, and God only knew why but when there wasn't an answer to Abby's soft voice he was almost relieved.

Not that he was jealous. Of Abby, and her strange, close relationship with Tim. That would've been stupid.

Abby moved back into sight after a minute, hiking up the black computer bag on her shoulder. She frowned at Tony. "He didn't answer."

Tony shrugged, trying not to be triumphant – at least it wasn't just Tony Tim had shut himself away from. "He went back to rest, he's probably asleep."

"Yeah, maybe." She looked back, but moved into the living room and dropped the laptop case on the coffee table. "He was okay, right? Earlier?"

"Sure. As okay as he could be, I guess."

"Meaning what?"

Tony frowned at the sharpness in her answer. "Meaning the obvious, Abs."

She regarded him, but looked away after a moment.

Jethro hadn't followed Abby from the hallway, and in the silence that fell between Abby and Tony his sudden excited bark was like a gunshot.

Tony was off the couch before Abby, but by the time he got to the hallway Jethro was out of sight and the bedroom door was shut again.

Abby sped past Tony down the hall to the door, knocking loud. "Tim? Hey, it's me."

Nothing. The muffled sounds of Jethro's excited panting, and some quiet, nearly imperceptible murmurs in Tim's low voice.

Nothing else.

Abby spun around after a moment, her eyes piercing Tony. "What did you do?"

He turned away from her instantly, before he could let himself snap out an answer.

When he went back to the living room she followed. "Tony, what happened? Why isn't he...what happened?"

There it was, the accusatory tone. Tony bristled, if only because it really was his fault that Tim was playing shut-in. If he had kept his fucking mouth shut and watched Bigfoot, they might be halfway through a cheesecake by now.

He wasn't going to tell her that, of course.

Luckily he didn't have to tell her anything, because even as she stared at him so fiercely, the front door opened and slammed shut again, and both of them jumped at the sound.

Pissed Gibbs. Blazing blue eyes and hand clenched around his keys, standing so stiff he was almost at attention.

Tony's eyes darted to the coffee table for a moment, guilty, but he squared his shoulders and faced his boss. "Hi, honey. Good day at the office?"

Gibbs scowled at him. "Where's McGee?"

Jethro's clattering nails answered the question, and Tony turned at once to see Tim appear from the back hall as if drawn by Gibbs' presence.

"Hey, boss." He was dishevelled, as if he really had been resting. His feet dragged a bit, but he moved in without hesitating. In his t-shirt and jeans he looked alarmingly young as he shuffled in with his excited dog darting around his bare feet.

His eyes didn't avoid Tony even if they didn't stop on him.

Pissed Gibbs faded back for a moment, long enough for Gibbs to unclench a fist and shove his keys in his pocket, moving further into the house. "How you doing, Tim?"

Tim shrugged. "Loaded question."

Gibbs' eyebrows shot up, and his mouth quirked at one side. "Yeah. I wish I could make it easier instead of harder, I really do."

Tim nodded, his shoulders slumping only slightly. He looked over at Tony for a moment, green eyes solemn but steady.

Tony met that gaze, feeling ridiculously earnest as he moved up to Tim and dropped a hand on his shoulder. He knew what was coming, what they were talking around. He knew it would be tough, and he knew that despite the argument earlier, he had to be there for Tim.

Tim didn't draw away from his hand, but he didn't seem very much at ease. He looked back at Gibbs.

Gibbs saw something he approved of – whether just in Tim or in Tim and Tony both, Tony wasn't sure. Whatever it was, though, it made Gibbs look to his right. "Abby. Get home, get some sleep. I'll need you sharp in the morning."

Of course she didn't. She looked from him to Tony and Tim and she frowned. "What's--"

"Abby. Go." Gibbs was pretty gentle, considering he'd looked like a storm cloud when he first came in. But Tony was relieved by that, since it meant Gibbs realized that Tim couldn't do this with Abby hovering, making concerned sounds and staring at him with those wide, wounded eyes.

She frowned at Gibbs, sharper than she normally let herself be with him. But the grim set to his face and the calmness in his voice must have told her something, because she heaved a huge, wronged sigh and turned to Tim.

"I'm going, but."

Tim smiled at her. "I just needed another few minutes, Abs. I wasn't going to hide out long."

Tony saw the lie in his eyes. One thing the years hadn't taught Tim was how to lie.

Abby either didn't see it or didn't want to. She closed the space between them fast and pushed up on her toes to hug him. "Okay, Timmy. Just don't do that again. You know how easily offended I am."

His smile was fainter then, when she was pressed against his chest and couldn't see it. "Sorry."

She pulled back and kissed him carefully on the cheek, avoiding bruises. "See you tomorrow?"

Tim nodded. "You should come by. I don't think they'll let me go to work yet."

Gibbs snorted faintly, but didn't speak up.

Abby squeezed Tim's hand and let it drop. She went to the door, shooting Gibbs a you'll-pay-for-this-later look, and slipped out quietly.

Gibbs turned to Tim.

After a few moments of reluctant silence, Tony sighed and took Tim by the arm. "Come on. At least we can do this over cheesecake."

* * *

"There wasn't anything wrong with the car, they just slowed down at one point and pulled off the road. I didn't hear them talking about it, so maybe it was some kind of strategy they'd worked out in advance. Maybe the other two just didn't question anything Colin did. I don't know."

Tim hesitated, his eyes going distant for a moment before he blinked back to the present. He looked down at the wood grain of the heavy kitchen table, dragging a fingernail over a groove over and over again.

"They pulled over, turned the hazard lights on, and we waited."

Tony wasn't fooled by his almost casual words. 'We waited' meant Tim was sitting in a car surrounded by killers who were probably threatening him the whole time. Either that or sitting in silence, frantic to course an escape. Or thinking through his decisions again and again, trying to figure out what he did wrong to get him into that mess.

Tony knew. He'd been there. When his life was at risk and he wasn't the one in control, there was never a single moment that could be called just _waiting_. Every single second was horrible.

"Go on," Gibbs said after a minute.

By the softness in his voice Tony knew he was thinking along the same lines. Gibbs and Tony were both macho jerks who would have pretended to be casual as all hell if this had happened to them, but Tim wasn't like them. At least, he wasn't the kind of macho that meant he put on masks to keep his fears a secret.

"So after maybe ten minutes," Tim went on slowly, "this car pulled up. The Doughertys all got out of the car, and Colin pulled me out after him. They didn't say anything about keeping my mouth shut. They didn't warn me at all – I guess because they knew the woman in that car was dead either way, or because they wanted to see if I'd actually say anything. I think they would have found it funny if I did."

God, Tony hated that twist in Tim's mouth. He hated the un-McGeeish flatness in his voice. He hated the way Tim wouldn't meet anyone's eyes, just sat there staring at the wood of that heavy table as if it were the most fascinating thing in the fucking universe.

"I don't know what I was thinking, boss, I really don't: the minute I saw Colin bringing that gun up I just jumped. I thought I could save her, that if nothing else she'd make it back to her car in time to get away. But she didn't move. The gun went off and Clancy dropped and she didn't even move." Tim shook his head. "Not even when Clancy fell and Conor couldn't find a pulse, and...damn it."

Tony reached out, slipping his hand across Tim's back soothingly. "Doing good, Tim, just relax."

Tim flashed his eyes over at Tony. "She just stood there. Backed up a step or two, but stood there. Conor Dougherty started shouting about me killing his brother, and Colin just..." He stuck there for a moment, visibly fishing for words. He laughed finally, small and dark. "He just looked at me."

That was words enough for Tony. Colin Dougherty was an evil, conscienceless bastard, and his eyes showed every inch of that. A look from him was probably as effective as a look from _Gibbs_.

Tim drew in a breath and sat up, shaking his head to rid his expression of the ghosts Tony could see hovering over him. "I don't remember a lot about what happened next. Conor...he..._damn _it." He grimaced in frustration. "There is no logical reason why talking about this is so damned _hard_."

"Lots of illogical ones, though," Gibbs answered simply.

Tim met his neutral gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Well. Colin only stopped Conor from beating me to death because he thought it'd be more fun to execute that innocent woman right in front of me." His jaw tightened. "He introduced me first. Made her say my name – Agent McGee – and put her on her knees and held that gun to her neck, and..."

He hesitated again, but held up a hand before anyone could offer any encouraging platitudes. "Anyway. Colin put me into her car and spent half an hour telling me all the ways I was going to wish I'd died there, while Conor got rid of the bodies somewhere. Then they put me on the floor of the back seat and we drove for a while. Eventually we got to that house, where his old girlfriend lived. They took me to the basement and tied me up."

Tony stood abruptly. He left the table and moved into the kitchen, opening Gibbs' fridge and staring inside. He spotted a few cans of soda and grabbed one, figuring it made a good excuse. And really, the idea of Gibbs drinking anything but coffee seemed like blasphemy, so Tony figured he was doing a good deed getting such an uncharacteristic beverage out of his fridge.

He shut the fridge door.

"--picked up enough of what that woman was shouting to get a general idea at least where I was and who she was. I didn't have a lot of time to think about it, though, or I might've come up with something less harebrained than Morse code during a phone call."

"Didn't have a lot of time?" Gibbs' voice was a rumble after Tim's hesitant murmurs. "I didn't get the call until almost ten in the morning."

"I had time," Tim answered unsteadily. "Just not time to _think_. One of them was almost always down there with me, and..." He laughed.

The sound made Tony's eyes shut for a moment as he braced against the counter, fist clenched around the innocent soda can.

"They kept me busy," Tim finished finally.

Tony opened his eyes and glared at the soda. Kept him busy. How did they fucking keep him fucking _busy_?

Gibbs didn't seem inclined to grill those particular details out of Tim, though. "Okay, Tim. What about that phone call?"

Tony drew in a deep, slow breath and steeled himself, forcing himself to turn back to the table.

Tim's back was stiff.

Gibbs' eyes were focused as he waited, patient, giving Tim time to answer.

"Colin came down laughing like it was the most hysterical idea in the world to call you at the Navy Yard. Said it'd drive you crazy, but it would keep you away. Said I'd be their ticket to safety."

"Safety." Gibbs sat up. "Where were they planning on going?"

"I...don't know," Tim said.

Tony moved around the table to his abandoned chair. He popped the top on the can of soda and set it in front of Tim.

Tim blinked down at it, then over at Tony. "Thanks." He took a small sip, and all three of them pretended not to notice that he'd reflexively used his left hand to pick up the drink, and it was shaking visibly.

He set the can back down carefully. "I don't know, but there was something planned. Conor asking Colin something about tickets. Getting tickets. They didn't mention where they were planning to go, though. They didn't even mention if the tickets were for a plane or a bus or a train or a _fucking_ cruise ship."

"Easy." Tony flashed a stiff version of a smile. "Needless profanity is my territory, Tim."

Tim didn't even look his way. His shoulders were squared, his breathing harsh. "You think that's how to get him? Figure out where they're going? Stop him on his way out of town?" His left hand flexed against the table, fist curling and releasing unevenly. "I don't _think_ I heard anything more, but if I focus...if I think, there might be _some_thing. Some clue in what they said to each other, or..."

Gibbs reached across the table and rested his hand over Tim's fist. "Doc said take it easy with that hand."

Tim stared at Gibbs' hand. His breathing evened out after a moment and his fist uncurled and relaxed. His hand dropped to the table.

Gibbs drew his arm back. "If Conor was still out there I'd be the first one grilling you for clues they might've dropped. But Colin's plans have changed, Tim. He wanted to get away when it was him and his brothers. Now..."

Tim nodded. "Now it's just him."

Tony spoke grimly, his own hand aching to clench into a fist. "And he doesn't want to get away."

"That's why I'm here." Tim gestured at the kitchen around them. "That phone call at the hospital was just his first move." He looked from Gibbs to Tony.

It wasn't like they could argue the point, as much as Tony wanted to. Gibbs' eyes flickered over to Tony, mouth tightening a bit. But he didn't bother offering any kind of platitudes. That wasn't Gibbs' style.

It _was_ Tony's style, but he couldn't do it. Not right then. Not when Tim would've seen right through him.

Tim pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.

"Going somewhere?" Gibbs' voice was mild.

Tim hesitated, but a whine near the door grabbed his attention and gave him an excuse. "Gotta take Jethro out."

"McGee."

"Just the back yard, boss." Tim didn't meet anyone's gaze. He didn't wait for an answer, just made his way out of the kitchen with Jethro close at his heels.

Tony had to fight to stop from getting up and following. The soft sound of the back door shutting made him tense.

Gibbs' next words didn't help. "Exactly how much is he leaving out?"

Tony's throat worked, but he could answer honestly. "I don't know."

"You know enough." Gibbs' eyes were glittering in the dim kitchen, blue and gleaming with the intensity that made him the best boss Tony had ever had.

Gibbs didn't just talk that loyal Marine don't-leave-my-people-behind stuff because it was a nice rap. He _hurt_ for his team. He wouldn't show his worry in anything stronger than a momentary glance, but the anger he hid it behind was just as much evidence of his concern.

Tony wished he was more confident in facing down that look. He wasn't about to break Tim's trust by blabbing to Gibbs, but he wished he was more sure than he was doing the right thing keeping silent.

Gibbs knew enough to be worried – there was more than enough evidence by implication to assume that some bad shit went on between McGee and the Doughertys. Just the bruising and the kinds of threats and the evidence from Tibbett's stomach were enough to imply some pretty fucking horrible things.

As sure as Tony was that he had to keep his mouth shut, he wasn't very sure at all that he'd be able to help Tim overcome those horrible things. He didn't know if Tim would even let him help. He wasn't sure where the hell he'd even start.

"Damn it. It should have been me," he heard himself saying, like some bad broken record. But the words were as true as anything Tony had ever said, and he had to say something to get that probing stare off of him.

Gibbs' eyes narrowed for a moment, and he sat back and studied Tony. "Oh yeah?"

Tony nodded, firm. "It _was_ me. I was the one in their way, I was the one who put the safety on and put my hands in the air like some coward and told them to go ahead and take me if they wanted a hostage. If I hadn't done that...if I had done it faster, even. If I just hadn't given Tim a reason to take my place..."

Gibbs snorted. He stood up and went to the cupboards beside the fridge. He pulled out a glass, grabbed some ice from the freezer.

"I've got to hand it to you, Tony. I underestimated you."

Tony frowned, hearing that tone in Gibbs' voice. He knew his boss, and he knew when he was about to get his ass handed to him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. The sheer amount of _ego_ it must take to be you." Gibbs shook his head. "I never realized."

Tony folded his arms over his chest and allowed himself the dangerous luxury of glaring at his boss. "How the hell is it ego to take on guilt for my partner getting kidnapped by psychopaths?"

Gibbs moved to another cupboard and pulled down a glass bottle with a dusty label. He twisted the cork out and poured a couple of fingers of amber liquid into his glass. "What McGee did in that stairwell, that was a pretty brave thing."

He couldn't automatically make the connection from that statement back to his own ego, so Tony nodded. "Yeah it was."

"That's it? 'Yeah it was?' You're not gonna take credit somehow?"

"Credit? What are you talking about?"

Gibbs faced him, glass dangling from his hand as he pointed an accusing finger in Tony's direction. "You're the one talking like everything McGee did was because of you. He only got grabbed because _you_ put him in that position. Which means he only did something brave because _you_ were nice enough to arrange the situation for him, right?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Look, boss."

"No, DiNozzo, I understand perfectly. McGee's still the probie, isn't he? And you the senior field agent, and hell. He's hardly capable of making his own choices, so whatever he did must have been your fault, not his."

Tony felt his chest heat. He sat up straighter. "Considering you'd be saying exactly the same thing I am now if it'd been you in that stairwell, your argument seems kind of weak, boss."

Gibbs considered that, but shook his head. "Nah. Would I feel the same way? Hell yes I would. Would I be playing martyr in front of the guy who saved my life?" He snorted. "I doubt it."

It stung, even though Tony wasn't entirely sure it was the truth. Gibbs had as big a guilt-complex as Tony did. He wouldn't be so vocal about it, but it would be there.

Still, he couldn't help but think of the argument earlier between him and Tim.

"_I don't get to do what? Accept responsibility?" _

"_Yes! Because it wasn't your move, Tony. It was mine. It was my choice, and it was the right one." _

Maybe Tim really did think Tony was trying to take credit for Tim's decisions, instead of taking blame for the Doughertys'.

Hell, maybe Tony was. Just because it didn't feel like ego didn't mean it wasn't.

Well, Christ. No wonder Tim was pissed at him. If Tony'd gone through what he had and somebody else tried to convince him he wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for them, he'd be pissed too.

Tim wanted the responsibility for what happened. Tim was the one who ignored Tony's protests, who stood with his chin held high, and walked out without letting the Doughertys drag him like baggage after them.

It really had been Tim's move, and it was the last moment when Tim had actually been in control of his own moves. And Tony was trying to take that from him.

Jesus, Abby had been right about him. He was a fucking _asshole_ sometimes.

Gibbs nodded once, approving of whatever he saw in Tony's face. "Guilt's got its place, Tony. If you had messed up somehow, feeling guilty would keep you from making that same mistake again. But this wasn't you – it was him. He's willing to face that, you should let him."

"I hear you, boss." Tony sat back, rubbing his face with both hands. He didn't feel any better, really – though it was nice to hear Gibbs say this whole thing hadn't been Tony's mistake – but he had a better idea of just how he was screwing things up with Tim. That was a good thing.

The back door shut quietly, and Jethro came clattering in to lap at the water bowl on the floor by the kitchen door.

Tony dropped his hands and opened his eyes.

Tim stood in the doorway, shoulders straight and eyes glittering with resolve. "Boss, I want to go to work tomorrow."

Gibbs quirked up an eyebrow.

"He won't come after me on the Navy Yard. I won't hurt myself using a computer at NCIS any more or less than I'd hurt myself using the laptop here. There is no point to keeping me out, not when I've got access to better equipment and closer contact with you guys there." He drew in a breath but his voice stayed steady. "I'm not that hurt, and I'm not that close to falling apart. I can do my job."

Tony couldn't help but think back to the first time he had seen Tim so steady and calm and confident – back in that stairwell when he was first facing the Dougherty brothers.

He glanced over at Gibbs to see how he was taking this new aspect of Tim.

Gibbs regarded him, serious but not surprised. Maybe he'd seen that side of Tim before, maybe he just knew he had it in him. He locked eyes with Tim, and after a moment when Tim didn't look away he held out his hand.

Tim blinked, looking down at the glass of scotch Gibbs had poured but hadn't touched yet.

"Drink it."

Tim's brow creased, but he moved in and took the sweating glass from Gibbs. He sniffed it hesitantly.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, almost smiling. "Just drink it, Tim. And then get some sleep. If you're going to work tomorrow you're damn well going to put in a full day's work, and you're no use to me exhausted."

Tim nodded. He held his breath and threw down the whole mouthful of scotch. Quick swallow, and a small, controlled wince, and he held the glass out. "Thanks, boss."

He turned and snapped for Jethro's attention. He met Tony's eyes just for a moment before he headed back out the kitchen door and to the guest room.

Gibbs waited until he was far enough away before he turned to Tony with no trace of a smile left on his face. "You're sleeping on the couch, DiNozzo."

Tony stood up as Gibbs headed out the door. "Uh, boss? I don't want to presume on your hospitality or anything, but there is a whole other guest room up--"

"The couch, Tony." Gibbs didn't even look back. "You'll find out why soon enough."


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note - Sorry this one took a bit longer - ffdotnet didn't want to upload the story for the last couple of days. Anyway, a short one, but here. It's a big chapter for Tony, if not big in many other ways. _

_Thanks to everyone who assured me the slow pace isn't a turn-off. :-) I FINALLY got hit with the perfect idea for my second NCIS story when this one's done, so I'm excited. Of course if anyone has any requests storywise, you know, I'm flexible. _

_Right. Story. Sorry._

_

* * *

_

_Of course_, was his first real thought after his eyes snapped open from a dead sleep and he realized what the sound was that woke him up.

Of course. That's why Gibbs wanted him down there, and why he fed Tim a double shot of scotch before sending him to bed.

He sat up, groaning. DiNozzos were not made for crashing on couches like college kids, damn it. At least not without a nice drunken haze to dull the discomfort and then a nice throbbing hangover in the morning to diminish the back twinges.

The sound came again and he shot to his feet and down the hall, back pain instantly forgotten.

Tim had spent an hour talking about and reliving the whole experience before his wounds were even healed. Of _course_ he would have nightmares. Damn it.

Tony pushed into the neat, small guest room and moved as quietly as he could to the bed. It wasn't pitch-black – the window was blocked by a curtain, but a thin one that let in a bit of light from the street.

It was enough light to see by. Enough light to reflect off a pale face and furrowed brow. Enough light that Tony could sit down on the edge of the bed and still be far enough from Tim that it wouldn't make him panic any further.

He reached out and his hand hovered over Tim's arm for a moment. The covers were pushed low, and Tony could just make out the top of the MIT on the front of his t-shirt. He smiled faintly, and let his hand fall on Tim's shoulder.

"Hey. Tim?"

He nearly jumped when, without opening his eyes or moving, Tim spoke. "I'm awake." Low and hoarse, thick with sleep.

Tony hesitated, but kept his hand where it was. "You okay?"

"Woke myself up." Tim's brow smoothed, and eventually his eyes opened. He blinked out at the darkness before focusing on Tony. "Must've been pretty loud."

Tony shrugged. "Volume is good during nightmares. You wake yourself up, you wake up someone nearby who can help you. Right?"

"Help me?" Tim laughed faintly. "Everyone has nightmares, they don't need to be rescued from them."

"I have before." Tony hiked a knee up on the bed. "Hell, I bet even Gibbs has. There's no shame in it."

"I'm not ashamed," Tim snapped out, too fast. He braced his hands on the mattress and pushed, as if to lift himself up enough to sit. But his arms in their bandages were obviously not healed enough, and his left hand gave out entirely.

He gave up, dropping against the pillow. "Damn it. I hate this."

Tony leaned in. "Let me help you up, then."

"I don't need your _help. _I can--" Tim cut himself off. He scrubbed at his face, covering his eyes for a moment.

Tony forced a smile. "The macho act looks better on me than on you."

Tim dropped his hand and rolled his eyes, but the anger tightening his mouth relaxed. "What doesn't?" He flashed a wry smile. "Okay, help me up."

Tony grinned and leaned in again, catching Tim's back as he pushed himself up, taking the weight his arms couldn't brace, and settling him back once he was sitting up.

"I'm not supposed to be infirm. For God's sake." Tim sighed.

"If you were infirm Gibbs wouldn't have okayed you to come back to work." Tony smoothed the sleeve of Tim's shirt into place and sat back. "You just woke up, and your arms are still a little messed up. No big deal."

Tim held up his left arm to chest level, and for a moment he just watched his hand trembling. Tony's 'no big deal' floated heavy in the air.

Tony cleared his throat fast. "So. What was the nightmare about?"

"Guess," Tim said flatly without looking away from his hand.

"Can't." Tony spoke as casually as he could manage. "I don't know everything."

Tim tried to curl his shivering hand. The fist was half-formed at best, and when relaxed again it just kept shaking. His eyes glimmered too brightly in the darkness.

Tony felt a strange, hard ache in his chest. He knew he wasn't helping, but he knew...he _thought_, anyway...that it would be best for Tim to get all the stuff he was still hiding out into the open as soon as possible. There was no point in Tim recovering now only to make himself sick again or traumatized or something when the secrets came back to haunt him.

Tony's voice was too casual when he kept going, but he didn't know how else to be.

"I mean, maybe you were dreaming about that _thing_ that didn't happen, maybe it was that woman getting shot. Maybe it was something they did to 'keep you busy' all night before they called Gibbs. That's a pretty frigging vague phrase, though. Could mean anything, and in the context of what I _do_ know, I start thinking it means some pretty horrible things. But I don't _know_, that's why I asked."

Tim's hand dropped to the bed, to the sheets puddled in his lap. He shook his head but didn't speak.

Tony studied his face, the too-bright sheen in his eyes and the way the washed out lights filtering through the curtained window seemed to paint Tim's face with almost blue light.

He'd lost some weight. He'd been dropping weight for the last few years, of course, but right then the streetlights cut into his face, showed too-deep angles in his cheeks and painted shadows under his eyes. He looked frail and gaunt, and it didn't sit right on Tim.

Tony wanted his brilliant, sharp, sarcastic probie back. He wanted to watch him tear apart some computer or some coded software. He wanted to hear that proud, almost smug note in Tim's voice after he wrote some program that would perform some miracle, and used it to solve a crime or catch a killer.

He was uncertain about being the only person in on Tim's secrets, but he was also fiercely glad of it. If it was Ziva who had found him, or Abby who Tim wanted to be there with him during his report to Gibbs, Tony would have been pretty damned devastated. He was the senior agent, damn it. He was the teacher, and Tim was the student, and it was Tony's place to be there.

Tony reached out and brushed his fingers over Tim's hand, almost the same way Gibbs had stopped him from making a fist earlier.

"Look, Tim..." Casual wasn't working, so he sucked up his macho pride and spoke simply. "You had to go through all this alone, which I hate more than you know. But this part you don't have to go through by yourself."

Tim's throat worked. His hand twitched under Tony's.

"Tell me what happened. Tell me what the damned nightmare was about. I can't promise I'll be a lot of help, you know, it's _me. _But even I've gotta be better than nothing, right?"

Tim's breathing was uneven, almost harsh. His gaze was on his lap, on their hands. "It was stupid. It was just a dream."

"I don't mind. Tell me your stupid dream."

"You'd hate me, Tony."

Tony's eyebrows flew up. "Do I even have to justify that with a denial?"

Tim shook his head, but didn't give up. "You'd think less of me. And you don't think all that much of me as it is."

"Sure I do. I trained you, Tim, you must be the second best agent in the whole Navy Yard. You're family, okay?" He let his hand squeeze Tim's gently. "Nothing you could tell me would change that. I promise."

Tim drew in a breath, and another, like he was drawing in enough oxygen to get through the whole story at once. But the air sighed out of him again, and a few more seconds of silence ticked by before he answered.

"I was terrified."

Tony blinked. "Yeah? So was I. I hope that wasn't your big secret."

Tim was already shaking his head before Tony was done. "You don't get it, Tony. I was...I've never felt anything like that before. And I've...okay, I haven't been through half the things you guys have, but I've been in danger before. I've had my life threatened. This wasn't anything like that."

Tony wanted to tell Tim that that wasn't unusual – that of course fear had degrees, and one man holding a gun to him could be completely different than another man holding a gun to him. There were too many variables to any situation to ever be completely confident in how he'd react or what he would feel.

Tim hadn't been an agent long enough to know that, but Tony? Gibbs? Ziva? They'd all have been able to tell him that.

But something kept Tony silent. Some voice in his head, Gibbs-like in its sharpness, saying _you don't always have to have an answer, DiNozzo._

Tim lowered his eyes, controlling his breathing with some difficulty. "Towards the end, before you found us...during that phone call and...afterwards? I kept thinking..."

His left hand tugged under Tony's, but Tony didn't let him go. He brought his other hand to his face, rubbing his eyes again.

Tony watched him. After a moment, he wondered if he didn't know exactly what Tim was struggling to admit.

"You kept thinking? Let me guess. That you shouldn't have done what you did back at the start of all this. You kept thinking that you should have just let them take me instead."

Tim's face jerked up, his eyes wide and glittering and upset. "No!"

Tony waited, no judgment in his face.

Tim wilted fast. "And....and yeah. Kind of." His hand dropped. "That was the dream, anyway. Us being back there in that stairwell, and me freezing up. Because in the dream I knew everything that was about to happen, and I didn't move. I didn't stop them from taking you."

Tony sighed, knowing Tim - knowing guilt over something that he never actually did would eat him up as bad as anything else that had happened. "Do I need to remind you that it didn't happen that way?"

"No. It didn't. But what if next time..." Tim drew in a breath, eyes on his lap as if he couldn't bring himself to look up and see Tony's reaction. "I thought it. More than once. That it should have been you. But God, Tony. _Only_ because I thought you could have stopped them somehow. You've got years on me dealing with men like that. If it was you everything would have gone differently. Maybe that woman would never have died, and Clancy wouldn't have been killed, and everything would have been different."

He stopped suddenly, his face seeming to lose even more color. Tony leaned in, seeing that he meant to shut up about wherever his thoughts were taking him.

But Tim straightened a little, plowing through the building resistance and speaking. "I kept thinking maybe they wouldn't have...maybe it was something I did, or something about me, that made him..."

Tony froze as he realized where Tim's thoughts were going. No one had filled Tim in on the things they had found out about the Doughertys while Tim was missing.

Tim blinked, and a streak of wetness started to track down his cheek before he reached up and scrubbed it away, annoyed. "Was it me? Why the hell did they put me in that basement and come down and..."

"It wasn't you. It was them." Tony spoke fast, but solemn. It wasn't like it was good news, really. "You weren't the first one, Tim."

Tim's eyes rose, bright green and pained. His hand opened, tugged, as if trying to pull away from Tony's grip.

Tony opened his own hand and slipped his fingers through Tim's, holding on to him stubbornly.

"Tibbett too, and we don't know about the others because we didn't think to look for it." Tony shook his head, laughing without humor. "It didn't make things any easier on our end either. Knowing they might..."

"That's why..." Tim blinked, the pain in his eyes fading under thoughtfulness. "The doctor told me that the police asked for the SAE to be done. I just figured it was...standard, or...because of what Colin said to Gibbs on the phone."

"What Colin said didn't help, but no. Abby and Ducky found physical evidence on Tibbett." Tony hesitated, not wanting to make matters worse. "Abby thinks you dodged that bullet. I don't think Gibbs does, though."

"He wouldn't, would he?" Tim dropped his head back against the wall. He scrubbed at his eyes, breathing harshly. "I don't want it out there, Tony. I know it's stupid to care, it's just...pride, or something. But I don't want to sit there and tell him about..."

"Then don't." Tony squeezed Tim's hand, trying to be supportive. "He knows there are things you're not telling him, but he knows there's a reason you aren't telling him. Unless he thinks you're going to suffer for keeping it to yourself, he won't dig. It's not his style."

Tim thought about that, and something tight in his shoulders relaxed a moment later. "Guess not. That doesn't mean he won't sit me down sometime and stare at me until I tell him anyway."

Tony risked a faint smile. "Then we won't give him reason to." He hesitated, studying Tim. "But you don't have to keep it from me. I know, I'm probably the last person in the world you'd want to know about all this."

Tim didn't argue that. "But...what you did for me. Means a lot, Tony. Really."

Tony met his eyes. "I'll keep doing it. So okay, right now you don't want to talk about it. But when you do, nothing you tell me would ever reach anyone else. That's a promise."

"It would reach you." Tim returned the gaze with a half-assed attempt at a smile, looking so fucking sad it made Tony want to hug him or something.

"Yeah. But it's not like it would change anything. I'm a shallow guy, but I'm not that shallow."

"I'm starting to figure that out," Tim said, less rueful and more sincere in his smile. "It's news to me."

Tony returned the smile, squeezing Tim's hand again. The gesture called his attention to the bedsheets, to the fact that he'd been holding Tim's hand for the last long, serious minutes.

Something about that, about the strange selfless intimacy of that kind of gesture, made his face warm. Luckily it was dark in that room, so the red probably didn't show. Tony DiNozzo didn't _blush_, damn it.

He cleared his throat and looked up again. "Come on, you need to sleep. You know Gibbs will be watching you pretty close tomorrow, can't have you all tired and dragging."

Tim sighed. "Yeah, guess not." He flashed a sheepish smile, but Tony was already leaning in to help.

Their hands slipped apart so Tony could brace him and help him down. They got him back onto the pillow, and Tony dragged up the sheets over him.

"Want warm milk? Bedtime story?"

"No thanks, dad." Tim rolled his eyes, but the words were already thick and his eyelids were already heavy.

The guy had to be exhausted, and Tony would have let him pass right out if he didn't have one last thing he wanted Tim to know. One last thing he didn't think he'd be able to say in the bright, fully-conscious light of day.

"Hey. Tim."

Tim's eyes didn't shut, but they obviously wanted to. "Mmm?"

"I know you don't want me to apologize for letting them take you. I know you don't want me saying it's my fault, that you did all this for me, or anything like that." He toyed with the corner of the bed sheet. "You were right – it was your move, and I get that. I do."

Tim's eyes were wide open by then, focused on Tony.

Tony braved meeting his eyes. He reached out to brush a few strands of Tim's disheveled hair back into place without thinking about it. "There is something I want to say, though."

Tim was very still. "What's that?"

Tony hesitated, trying to find the words. "Knowing what that asshole did to you, and knowing they might've done more. And knowing that woman died and you might have some kind of nerve damage and you're still in better shape than my stupid ass would have been in the same situation..."

He met Tim's eyes, feeling awkward but ignoring it. "If I knew everything that was going to happen, and our places had been reversed...I would have done it for you."

Tim stared at him, his breath apparently caught in his throat somewhere.

Tony didn't look away for a moment. "You ought to know that. What you did for me is huge, Tim. And I would do it for you, too."

Another little streak of wetness escaped his eyes when Tim blinked, but both of them ignored it that time.

Tim smiled after a moment. A small and almost shy smile, frail, but God. It was sincere, and a fucking _pretty_ kind of smile.

"Thanks."

Tony reached out and grasped his hand one last time. "Thank _you,_" he answered simply. "Get some sleep."

Tim's fingers twitched around his, squeezing his hand tightly. "I will."

It was hard to look away from him, to break the gaze. There was something there, in Tim's face, like surprise but...deeper. Like awe. Like Tim really hadn't realized that Tony would go through hell to protect him.

Like now that he knew Tony would, it really meant something.

It was hard to turn away from that look, but Tim needed to sleep. So eventually Tony stood up, letting Tim's still-shivering hand go almost reluctantly.

When he moved the few paces to the bedroom door he wasn't thinking of much of anything. He let himself be relieved that he seemed to have handled things well, that Tim had smiled at him and talked to him honestly, and that somehow Tony made him feel better for that.

Tony wasn't much of a comforter. His instinct was to laugh when uncomfortable moments came, to make an ass of himself and tick people off. He wasn't used to simply tackling the moments and the causes behind them.

It made him strangely, fiercely proud that he could come through when it mattered. That he could share some deep words and solemn feelings with Tim, and not feel any of his usual fight-or-flight instincts kicking in.

He was happy to know that about himself. And if it was only Tim he could have those moments with...well, at least it was Tim.

Once the door was shut behind him and he was on his own to stare out into the darkness and think about the last few minutes, he realized what that meant.

It hit him sharp and fast, like a punch to the gut he hadn't seen coming, though he should have.

He really should have.

His fear that Tim had been gone for good. His fury that anyone would touch his Probie, mess with _his_ Tim. His outrage that Abby would think she had to be the one who was there for Tim because Tony couldn't be. His fierce protective urge to murder Colin Dougherty just to keep Tim from having to face him, or testify in some trial, or even think about him a minute longer...

Abby's '_intense'_, and the videos he found in Tim's place and couldn't stop thinking about. Holding his hand and speaking so sincerely, without the slightest urge to pull away in some macho rejection.

Jesus Christ.

It wasn't a fluke that he held Tim's hand and tucked him in and touched his hair without a fucking thought. It wasn't some senior-partner mentor thing that fueled his rage towards Colin. It wasn't pride in himself that made him so happy when Tim smiled at him that way.

He had a fucking crush on his Probie.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's note: Sorry about the extended absence, if anyone missed me. :-) To make up for it I'll be posting another chapter either later tonight or tomorrow. _

_Not to toot my own horn or anything, but if anyone didn't see the first chapter of a second NCIS story I've been insprired to write...well, there's a first chapter of a second story up here. You should go, like, read it and stuff. _

* * *

Tony liked NCIS better in the half-lights at night. He liked the quiet phones, the shadows everywhere. The skeleton crew, the chance to settle in and really focus without worrying about impressing anyone with his wit or skill.

But the squad room wasn't empty when he walked out of the elevator, and his eyebrows flew up when he saw who was there.

She was so focused on her computer that she didn't seem to have noticed the elevator arriving, and he peered over the wall and got just a glimpse of what looked like bank statements or financial records on her screen.

He cleared his throat just to watch her jump, and smirked as he moved around her desk and to his own. "Working late, David?"

She glared at him for a moment, but nodded at her screen. "Gibbs says they were planning to escape somewhere. Perhaps Colin still wishes to go."

"Gibbs doesn't think so."

"Gibbs thinks Colin wants McGee dead – I agree with that. But afterwards? Colin is not insecure with his own abilities, particularly his ability to kill. He has too much ego to regard it as a suicide mission."

Tony thought about that. "Might be onto something there. So what are you checking?"

"Pam Ayers' credit cards and bank account. McGee said something about ordering tickets, and it's fair to assume they would impose on the woman's hospitality enough to buy tickets from her funds." She sighed and pushed at the keyboard. "But there's nothing."

Tony dropped into his chair, jabbing the button to turn his monitor on. The background on his desktop was old mugshots of the three Dougherty brothers – it wasn't his usual style to want to be reminded of a case that way, but this one had been different even before they grabbed Tim.

He stared at the display for a moment, thinking about leaving Gibbs' house, leaving Tim in bed trying to sleep after being woken up by nightmares.

Thinking about Tim.

He lifted his hand and looked at it for a moment, feeling Tim's shivering hand clenched to it. He could see that last shy smile, that quiet 'thanks'.

Tony still didn't know what all those bastards had done to him.

"Tony."

He looked up and across to Ziva's desk. "Mmm?"

She studied him. "Are you all right?"

He shrugged, pasting on a grin. "Just trying to think of where to start to track this bastard down."

She sat back, dark eyes staying on him as though he was on the other side of an interrogation room table.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just that I am almost...impressed, actually. By you."

Tony grinned. "I'm impressive. Don't you hear the legends they tell about me around here?"

"I'm choosing to ignore those so I can maintain this sudden good impression I have of you." She smirked at him before turning back to her keyboard. "I have seen you joke your way out of many situations that you should take seriously. It's gratifying that for all you tease McGee, you do not attempt to make light of this case."

"Jesus." Tony rolled his eyes, thinking of Abby. "What is it with you guys? You really thought I was going to brush this off? I really think I have grounds to be offended by that."

"Your history paints a pattern, Tony. Admit it."

"I have taken things seriously before."

Ziva smirked, and looked ready to retort. But the smirk faded and she looked back at her screen.

Tony turned to his own, but there he was stuck. They didn't exactly have a lot of leads, and he didn't have any evidence to tear apart. Nothing but that house and the hysterical old girlfriend's statement.

But she'd been no help – and he still didn't trust her entirely. She had been a little too loud in her reaction when they came busting through the door. Maybe it was genuine hysterics. Maybe it was a way to warn the brothers.

Meantime, Colin had taken a stolen car to and from the hospital, had to have stolen a different one by now, and was no doubt shacked up in some motel that didn't ask questions and wouldn't watch the news for mugshots of wanted men.

Which meant they had nothing. Unless they wanted to dangle Tim out in the open like a carrot and hope he took the bait, it was his move. And Tim wasn't about to be Dougherty bait.

He sighed. "We got that woman's witness statement around here anywhere?"

Ziva looked up. She flashed him a sympathetic look and hefted a few sheets of clipped papers. "Would you like to save yourself twenty minutes of reading? Apparently she indicates that the Doughertys are not very nice men."

Tony grimaced. "Gee, that'll help."

Ziva smiled in shared frustration and turned back to her monitor.

Okay. Tony turned back to his screen, urging his brain to fire up and get to work. Okay, Pam was a dried-up lead. His search of local friends and family had turned up next to nothing. Where to look next?

"_Thanks."_

He'd never seen Tim smile like that before. At the risk of being needlessly girly...it was kind of sweet. A sweet look. Sort of shy, sort of awed.

Tony's eyes were on his monitor again, but he wasn't really seeing it. He was trying to hold on to that one brief moment. That one little smile.

He'd had too many bad images to picture lately, he wanted to picture something good.

Anyway, he didn't necessarily have a _crush _on Tim. Just because he was feeling a little overprotective of him lately...hell, that wasn't exactly surprising. Tim was...he was like Tony's _kid_. Like his student or something. The green techie nerd Tony had reared up into a full-fledged agent. Tony felt responsible for the guy.

Just because he was somehow certain all the sudden that it was going to be a life's ambition to make Tim flash that sweet, shy smile again as often as possible...didn't mean any damned thing at all. It meant Tony was a friend to the guy.

A friend who held his hand and brushed his hair out of his face, and obsessed over the idea of him watching gay porn in his apartment.

God. He seriously wasn't even fooling himself a little bit.

But come on. Just because he _liked_ Tim didn't meant he _liked_ Tim. Tim was...was a pasty little dork with a permanent pout and the tendency to ramble on and on and on and _on_ about the most boring crap in the entire world.

Even if Tony was starting to let himself get drawn to guys again for the first time in almost a decade, Tim McGee was not his type by any stretch of the imagination.

Tony dated beautiful women and men who...who were as much like Tony as possible. He liked strikingly good-looking people. He liked cut jaws and designer threads, styled hair and charming smiles. He liked men who talked like money, and women who talked like gold-diggers. He was _shallow_, damn it. He always had been, and it had worked out pretty well so far.

When he tried to get in deeper with someone he got Jeanne. Lesson fucking learned there, right?

Tim was a good-looking guy, but not in that generic, magazine-ad way that Tony liked. Tim was too smart, too serious. Tim attracted strange women who usually turned out to be nutcases or killers. Or Abby.

Tim wanted to be needed. That's what Abby said. Tony wasn't needy. Not at all.

The laughter in his brain after that particular thought was so sharp he nearly echoed it out loud.

Okay, yeah, he was a needy bastard. Fine. What he needed was attention, and flattery, and validation. Tony was self-aware, he knew he could be needy. He craved compliments, he wanted any woman in a mile radius to be constantly aware of him, even if he wasn't interested in them. He wanted...

He wanted _intensity._

And okay, if the Abby voice in his head didn't stop sighing out the word 'intense' every time he got close to the thought, he was going to stab himself in the fucking eye.

Tony wanted to be adored, and Tim was am honest, sincere, sweet guy who probably bought flowers for his dates and blushed a lot and kissed on the cheek. That wasn't adoration the way Tony craved it. It was nice, probably, but it wasn't passion.

Jesus. He had a fucking case to solve, a psychopath to hunt down, revenge to seek. He did not need to be thinking about McGee and intensity and passion all at the same time.

He didn't even know where these thoughts first came from. Why the hell couldn't he turn them off?

Colin Dougherty glowered from Tony's desktop, and Tony glowered back for a moment before he looked up and across the aisle.

"Hey."

Ziva hummed in answer, pecking at her keyboard with a furrowed brow.

Tony sighed. "You ever have a thought...like a realization about something, and it just all at once changed _every_thing, and...and all you want to do is go back in time an hour and never have the damned thought in the first place?"

Ziva blinked, looking up and over at him. "You're speaking of...epiphany? Is that the word?"

"Yeah." Tony thought about it. "I guess. Like when your parents told you there was no Santa Claus. All at once all these stupid childish dreams are blown, and you never look at things the same, and it seems like it'd be better if they never told you the truth. And yes, David, I see you playing with your damned necklace. Fine, not Santa Claus, but you know what I mean, right?"

Ziva's slowly growing smirk bloomed into a smile as she let her fingertips fall from tracing the Star of David worn so faithfully around her neck every day. "I know what you're saying, but I don't agree."

"You think it's better to know the truth, even if it makes things worse?"

Ziva shrugged. "The truth kept you from being a grown man who still believes in Santa Claus." She sat back, seeming to sense that he was trying to speak seriously. "It is a uniquely American obsession to want to beautify and soften the world around you, even if you render it unrecognizable. But truth is not ugly, Tony. Truth is never a bad thing. It's in one's reaction to the truths about the world where the damage is done."

"Mmm." Tony frowned at his computer screen.

"Men such as Colin Dougherty, as ugly as they seem, can only exist because the _capacity_ for such ugliness is in all of us. If it wasn't present in human nature as a whole, it couldn't exist in individuals."

Tony clicked up his email just have something covering up those three faces. "That supposed to make me feel better? Knowing we're all potential Doughertys?"

"It isn't supposed to make you feel anything. It is truth. It isn't changed by whether or not you feel better or worse. It simply is. The capacity for that evil is in all of us, but look at how few people actually indulge in it. Colin Dougherty is all the more horrible to us because he is a rarity. Because we don't see this sort of evil every day."

Tony thought about that. He shot her a frown from over his computer. "This is the most complicated optimism I've ever been witness to."

She rolled her eyes at him, venting a small, contained sigh. "I am trying to answer your question, that's all. You asked if I ever had a moment of discovery that I wanted to go back and not have simply because it made the world seem more complicated. And no, I have never wanted to unlearn a truth. Not even a hard truth. Because whether I know of that truth or not, it exists. If we had never run across this case, Colin Dougherty would still exist. I would rather know of such things than go around in some blandly glittering world where we all love each other and everything is fine."

"Well...some people don't need their innocent glittering worlds ruined." Tony scowled at her. "Isn't that why we do what we do? So innocent people don't have to get touched by ugly things like killers and Doughertys?"

She raised her eyebrows. "We do what we do so the killers and Doughertys can be stopped. We are not responsible for protecting the innocence of ordinary citizens." She regarded him, as if trying to tie all his words down into some specific thing so she'd know exactly what was bothering him.

"I've never understood the concept that the weight of a crime could go up or down depending on the level of innocence of its victim. Murdering a civilian is no better or worse than murdering an officer. Murdering a child is no more or less tragic than murdering an adult."

Tony humphed. "A lot of people wouldn't agree with you about either of those."

"Perhaps. To people like us, the death of a fellow officer will always cut deeper. To a parent, the murder of a child will always seem like the worst evil imaginable. But those things are relative. What is true for all parents is not then true for the entire world. Murder is murder, an evil thing no matter who the victim is."

She tilted her head suddenly, as if she was on the trail of what his real issue was. "A crime committed against McGee would be no worse than the same crime committed against you."

Tony hadn't quite been ready for that turn. He was hinting and hiding one sudden overcomplicated feeling, he didn't realize the _other_ overcomplicated feeling he couldn't shake would get brought up.

"Tim's innocent," he said, faint, even as he knew that argument was just what she was disagreeing with.

"And if he were not so innocent, he would have deserved it?"

Tony's eyes jerked over to her, sharp. "I didn't say that."

"You think it. Because you think that you yourself deserved to take on his pain, because you're not as innocent as he is. It's the same sentiment, Tony, whether it involves you or not."

Tony glared at her. "You are fucking annoying, David."

She blinked, but smiled a moment later. "You did begin this conversation."

"I wasn't even thinking about this kind of thing when I began this conversation," he groused, turning back to his computer and idly pulling up his useless list of old Doughtery friends and family who still lived in Maryland or Virginia.

"What were you thinking of, then?"

"None of your business."

"Mmm."

Tony didn't trust that answer, but he hunched over and stared at his screen as if there was anything of use on it. He could feel Ziva's eyes on him, but he ignored her. She could pry answers from him too easily, and he wanted some time to sort his head out before he went telling people.

Except...

Maybe it _would_ help to talk to someone out loud about it. In Tony's experience saying things out loud tended to either make them more real or reveal how false they were.

But not Ziva. There was someone better, someone who would dig right to the truth of the situation. Someone who wouldn't be shocked and possibly offended by the very idea of it.

He glanced at his watch. Almost four AM. Practically morning. Abby might be in by then. He stood.

Ziva looked up instantly.

Before she could quiz him on where he was going, though, Tony's attention was drawn by a phone ringing.

Tim's phone.

It was strange to get any calls at four in the morning – NCIS wasn't like a police station that way, at least. Who'd be calling at four in the morning, when they knew the phone wouldn't be answered? And calling Tim of all people?

There was one very obvious answer to that.

Tony met Ziva's eyes for a sharp second and then practically dived from his desk to Tim's, grabbing the phone before it could go into voice mail.

"NCIS," he said, voice low.

There was a moment's pause – surprise, Tony thought. Whoever it was wanted to leave a message.

But a moment later came the voice he had suspected he'd hear. _"Back at work already, hero? You think you're gonna find me before I find you?"_

Colin Dougherty's voice caused a real, physical reaction in Tony. His stomach seemed to lock, his face flushed with heat. His spine was ramrod straight as he clenched the phone against his ear.

"You're not going to find him, Dougherty. You hear me? You had your chance, and he got away from you. You're not getting him again."

Ziva was out of her chair by then, but had grabbed her phone and was speaking urgently and quietly – getting the switchboard to record and trace the call, same as they would have done that first time, when Tim passed his desperate message to Gibbs.

"_This isn't the little hero then? Not Gibbs either. Must be that other one, the smart ass."_

Tony grinned, right and fierce. "That's right. The one who's going to put a bullet in your head if you so much as threaten my partner again."

"_I'm not threatening anything. I'm telling the fucking future. He's dead, smart ass, and if you want to get in my way you can be just as dead as he is." _

"What's wrong, Dougherty? You that ticked off that someone got away from you? Just can't accept defeat gracefully?"

There was a slight pause. Wherever Dougherty was – and Tony wasn't picking up any kind of sounds that would offer a clue – he obviously felt free enough to raise his voice.

"_Your partner killed my brother. He's a dead man and I don't care who I have to run through to get to him." _

"Your brother? Oh, right. Clancy. The one you threw out like trash. The one all bloated, stinking up our morgue downstairs."

Tony's words to Tim earlier hadn't been false – he would have gone through the whole thing to protect Tim. He sure as hell didn't mind provoking Colin now, getting some of his attention away from Tim.

So he kept speaking, smirking into the phone. "Poor Conor, huh? You don't care about getting the guy who killed him? Oh, I bet you didn't even know he was dead."

"_Conor is dead?"_ The words were cold, hard. Dangerous.

Tony didn't give a shit. "Don't be upset. Think of it this way – he's keeping Clancy company. I bet they got to take the same handbasket down to hell. At least, that was the idea when I planted the bullet in his skull."

"_You..."_

"That's right. Me. So I tell you what – you knock off the chicken shit phone calls and come pay me a visit in person. We can work out all our differences face to face."

"_You just moved up to second on my list, fucker. Don't worry about that. You'll get me face to face."_

"Why not right now, Dougherty? Be a man and face me."

"_Second, smart ass. There's still one name ahead of yours. And I'm not dumb enough that I don't see you're trying to distract me. Or keep me on the phone for a trace. Tell your partner I'll be seeing him soon." _

Tony winced at the click ending the phone call. Fury made his knuckles tighten around the phone until his entire hand ached, but that moment gave him enough control to lower the phone and look at Ziva.

She frowned right back. "Not enough time to trace it, I'm sure. But we'll have most of it on tape."

"Great. So Tim can hear it first hand." Tony looked at the silent phone, hand twitching at the sudden urge to pick it up and throw it across the fucking room.

But the heat of anger cooled, and he set the phone in its cradle on Tim's desk, resigned.

"I'm going to kill him." He looked back at Ziva.

She tilted her head, her dark eyes serious.

He frowned. "I know it like it's fact, like it's already happened. He isn't going to live through this. No way in hell."

Ziva moved back to her desk, her face grim but her lack of argument telling. "First we have to find him."


	11. Chapter 11

_AN: As promised. :-)_

* * *

"What's this for?"

Tony smiled at Abby indulgently, reaching down to flick the magnifying lenses up away from her eyes. "It's me, not Gibbs. I don't bring bribes, just gifts."

She didn't argue, just plucked the plastic Caff-Pow cup from his hands and curled back into the table, flapping the lenses back down over her eyes.

"But just for the hell of it, I'll ask. What are you doing?"

"Scrapings," she answered without looking up again. She took a long draw off the drink in her hand and set it aside. "From inside Pam Ayers' house. Mud dragged in by boots."

"Uh huh." Tony's eyes drifted up, past her through the rear glass doors that led to her small inner office.

Tim was hunched over, pecking at an open laptop with focus in his eyes.

Tony smiled to himself, then shook it off and reminded himself loudly that he had only come down to offer caffeine to his favorite lab tech, not to check on Tim. Not to make sure he really did make it in safe and sound, and that he really was okay down there with Abby.

Not that he didn't take Gibbs' word for it.

"--something specific enough that I could pinpoint where they might have gone if they left the house at all."

He nodded instantly as she looked up, acting as if he'd heard every word. "That's a little unlikely, isn't it?"

"Gibbs says follow any lead we can think of. You guys have records and investigations and interrogations, I have scrapings." She flashed a faint smile. "We're really desperate here, aren't we?"

Tony glanced over her shoulder again. Tim was less at ease at the computer than he usually was. His typing was slower, awkward. Like the way Tony typed.

He sighed. "We're desperate. He doesn't have a base of operations. He doesn't have a known phone to track, he's got nothing at all to lose and he could be anywhere in the fucking world right now."

Behind the glass doors of the inner office, Tim sat up suddenly, frustration tightening his mouth. He brought his left hand up, shaking his wrist out and opening and closing his fingers. His eyes never left the screen in front of him.

Tony dragged his eyes back to Abby. "What's the genius doing?"

She glanced towards the office and turned a smile back to Tony. "He won't tell me yet, but he's got some hunch. He spent the whole morning writing code and ignoring me."

"Yeah, right. Like you'd let that happen."

She tried to look innocent, red lips pouting. "I don't always have to be the center of attention," she said as if wounded by the implication.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Oh, I know. Just when you're awake."

She beamed. "Exactly. But really, no. I'm just...it's good to have him back, you know? I don't care if he's in there playing a Minesweeper marathon."

Tony looked back at Tim. "Yeah. I know."

Abby squeezed his arm and turned back to her scrapings. She flicked the lenses back over her eyes.

"Is he gay?"

She wheeled around so fast it made him step back. She took the lenses off entirely, her eyes sharp enough without them. "What?"

Tony hesitated, but shrugged. "You know. Tim. Is he...?"

There was nothing friendly in her eyes then. She searched his face like she'd been searching those scrapings, looking for any minute trace of...anything. "That would have made my sleeping with him a little awkward, wouldn't it?"

Tony sighed, slipping his hands in his pockets so he didn't feel so awkward standing there. "Fine, your honor, I'll rephrase the question. Does Tim like guys? Is he...bi, or whatever?"

"Where is this coming from?"

Tony was already getting a death glare from her, so he went ahead and answered honestly. "When I was at his place the other day. There were these videos in his room..."

"Tony! Jesus! You were supposed to pick up his dog, not go through his personal things!" She stood up, looking back towards the office to make sure Tim was still safely tucked away and paying them no attention. "I thought Ziva was the only spy on the team."

She was angry on Tim's behalf, Tony observed, but she wasn't surprised. She didn't ask what kind of tapes he was talking about.

It was as good as an answer.

"I was just looking through his DVDs while the damned dog ate," he said in his own defense. "Abs, it's _me_. If there's one thing I'm going to do at someone's place, it's check out the quality of their film collection. Come on."

She glared at him, eyes narrowed to squints. But the anger twisted to something else, and she came at him with a finger jabbing at his chest. "If you do anything to make his life hard. I swear to God. If you make fun of him or get him into trouble, or..."

"That's a yes, then."

She pushed him, but it was halfhearted. "Damn it, Tony." She wilted, but her eyes still glared. "He used to. I mean, he used to date without prejudice. But he hasn't since he became an agent. And he told me about it from the start." She paused, thinking. "Actually, it's the first thing he said that really impressed me. The first thing that wasn't computer related, anyway."

Tony looked towards the office doors. As far as he knew, Tim hadn't looked up from that screen once. He was looking less happy every passing minute, though.

"Tony."

He looked back at Abby. "Hmm?"

She frowned at him seriously. "You're not going to give him a hard time, are you?"

"Would be a bit self-defeating, wouldn't it?"

She blinked. "Self-defeating?"

He faced Abby, drawing in a breath. "I think I...um. Like him."

She blinked again.

He felt heat rising to his face. Why had he thought talking to Abby would be a good idea?

"I can't tell if you're joking or just lying."

His brow furrowed. "What?"

She closed in on him, lowering her voice to a hiss. "If _that _is how you're planning to tease him over this, don't bother. He would never fall for it, and neither will I. It's a bad joke. Even for you."

He drew back. "Even for me? I play great jokes."

Her mouth tightened, her eyes going narrow and dangerous.

He sighed. "It's not a joke."

"Then it's a flat-out lie. Why?"

"It's not--"

"I'm not stupid. And Timmy? He's bad at people sometimes, but even _he_ isn't this clueless. Whatever you're doing, don't. I'm telling you right now, don't."

"Abby, would you _listen_ before you hit me with the valkyrie screams?"

"No! Because this is cruel and it's pointless! You don't like Tim. You don't even _like _Tim. You like people like Ziva, and Gibbs. You like _cops_, Tony, and that's not Tim. You can't even listen to him talk without rolling your eyes or stepping on him, so no. I won't listen. I won't humor you about this."

Tony shut his mouth against rising protests. He frowned at her, but Abby was just hitting the pacing-and-gesturing point of her speech, and when Tony realized his frown was being wasted he looked away from her.

"I just don't...you're not this mean. Even when you're mean you're not _this _mean. So...so okay, there's something else going on here. Isn't there? You feel guilty, maybe, about what happened to him. God, is that it? Maybe you actually think you do like him!"

Tony's eyes drifted to the office door, to the sight of Tim slumped at the desk. His brow furrowed, his attention slipping away from Abby.

"--that's the case we just have to nip it in the bud before Tim finds out you ever had this weird _phase--_"

Tim looked away from the screen suddenly, rubbing his hand with a grimace. Suddenly he reached out and slammed the laptop closed so hard Tony almost jumped.

Tony moved without thinking, leaving Abby in mid-rant and heading for the office.

"Tony? Tony, don't you _dare_ even--"

He blocked her out, pasting a grin on his face as he reached the sensor that made the door slide open. Her voice cut off behind him before Tim could hear her, but her footsteps were fast approaching behind him.

"So I was thinking," Tony said, booming and over-casual, pretending he didn't notice Tim jump or see the way his hands dropped out of sight, as if pain in his wrist or fingers was something he had to hide.

Tony noted it all in a flash, going on as if he didn't see or didn't care. "I owe you one, you know? So I had this idea."

"Tony, I'm really not in the mood for--"

"DVR." Tony stopped at the desk, staring proudly down at Tim as if he'd just spoken some holy revelation.

Tim hesitated. "What?"

"DVR. It's this whole new thing, maybe you've heard of it." Tony smirked down at him. "It's like Tivo, on your cable box. On _my_ cable box, actually. And by this time Friday I can have...God, like twenty or thirty episodes of the Girls saved."

"The..." Tim blinked, gaping up at him. "You're talking about the _Golden _Girls again?"

Tony leaned in, planting his hands on the desk. "Don't pull the macho act on me. I know you're a fan, and I promised you a marathon. Now, since the cable companies were so rude as to make a liar of me yesterday, I figure I'll have to make my own marathon. So. Saturday. My place. All day. Your turn to bring the cheesecake; I'll supply some pastel blouses for us to wear, complete with quarterback-worthy shoulder pads."

Tim's breath came out of him, just close enough to a chuckle to make Tony happy. "I suppose there are worse ways to spend a weekend."

"Good. It's a date. So what the hell have you been doing down here all day?" Tony perched on the edge of the desk, ignoring the file that got nudged to the floor. Ignoring the death glare being leveled at him from the surprisingly-silent woman in the doorway.

Tim looked down at the laptop. His smile faded, but it didn't vanish entirely. He sighed. "Wasting a day, it turns out."

"Yeah? On what? Minesweeper marathon?" He didn't glance back, but throwing Abby's words out would at least let her know he wasn't about to let her spook him into silence.

Tim sighed. "Gibbs jumped on the idea of the Doughertys having an escape route planned, but I didn't hear enough to get any decent details. Nothing except Conor..." He hesitated, throat working. "Conor mentioning something about tickets. That was in the morning, after the call to Gibbs and before you guys showed up."

"Uh huh?"

Tim looked up at him, eyebrow raised. "Isn't this the part where you go glaze-eyed and walk away?"

"Nah, that comes when you get to the computer angle."

"Uh huh. Well, the computer angle came when I made a few logical deductions about what kind of tickets they could have gotten and how they could have gotten them."

"Go on, McSherlock." Tony reached out and tapped his fingertips loudly against the closed lid of the laptop.

Tim, as Tony predicted, swatted him away absently and opened the laptop, pecking at a couple of keys to get the screen to light up. "I know neither of them left the house, at least not long enough to go somewhere to buy any kind of tickets in person. No bus stations, no train yards. Nothing near enough. Which means they had to do it by phone or online." He brought up a couple of screens.

Tony got up and moved around the desk to his side, crouching to squint at the display. He glanced over at the doorway, at Abby, who stood with her arms folded over her chest.

Tim went on, oblivious to the tension between his two visitors. "These days ordering anything by phone or online means credit card or bank account, and it's a pretty short leap to figure out they didn't use anything in their own name. Pam Ayers' accounts are all clear, too."

Tony looked away from Abby, thinking. "Stolen card."

"That's our best bet." Tim shot him a faint smile. "But stolen from who? They've been in Virginia, Maryland, DC, and that first Marine they killed was found in Pennsylvania. They've been on this little spree of theirs since Clancy walked out of Rikers, which gives us a time frame of a couple of months, and throws in New York as a possible location."

Tony whistled, low. "That's going to be a hell of a long list of possibles."

Tim nodded. "Luckily we've got computers."

"You wrote a database?" Abby meandered in a few steps, going around the other side of the desk to look at the display in interest.

"Two." Tim sat back, letting her and Tony both look at a fast, constantly-moving display of names and a similar one being cross-checked beside it.

Tim gestured at the second screen. "That's every single plane ticket, train ticket, bus ticket, cruise ticket, ferry ride and tourist tour in a three-state area purchased during the night and the morning the Dougherty's had me. The other one is every single name on every police report filed in Virginia, DC, Maryland, New York, and Pennsylvania for the last two months."

"Jesus, Probe." Tony looked from the screen to Tim's face. "You just whipped that up before your morning coffee and donut?"

Tim shrugged. "It's not like I had to search out every name myself – the program does that. I just had to write the program."

Abby grinned, her anger at Tony at least temporarily forgotten. "My modest little genius." She leaned in to his chair and smacked a kiss on the top of his head.

Tim blushed, rolling his eyes. "Every time I start feeling good about one of these ideas, though..." He gestured at the laptop. "I get zilch."

"How much time will it take?"

Tim flashed Tony a wry smile. "Every police report in New York alone for two months is..."

Tony nodded. "A lot of names."

"So why use every report?" Abby leaned in, arms wrapping around Tim's shoulders from behind as she watched the names tick by over his shoulder. "Why not just narrow it down to robberies, if we're looking for a stolen card?"

Tony answered that one easily enough. "Because the Doughertys aren't pickpockets. They don't spot a target and just lift their wallet. The wallet, the money, the credit cards, that's nothing but an afterthought. A perk. So you'd have to leave in assaults, break-ins..." He hesitated. "Rapes, murders. Anything where a wallet could have been lifted. Considering the bigger crimes that would be attached, it's doubtful a missing wallet would even feature in the police report."

"And excluding the few reported crimes that are obviously unrelated would take more time than its worth," Tim finished.

Abby nodded, humming thoughtfully.

Silence ticked by as the names kept sliding up the screen, the search fields jumping down the lines without a hit. It was strangely hypnotic.

Still, no wonder Tim was frustrated if he'd sat there watching this for hours.

Tony glanced down and looked at Tim's left hand, limp on his lap. "How's your hand holding up?" he asked quietly, already pretty sure of the answer.

Tim hesitated. His hand clenched against his jeans but he shrugged as if it was no big deal. "Like you said, I've got to give it time."

Tony smiled, wry. "And if you're really that accepting of it than you're a better man than I've been every single damn time I've ever been hurt."

Tim met his eyes. After a moment he relaxed, shrugged. "I'm not. Just doesn't do me any good to complain."

Abby snorted. "Definitely makes you a better man than Tony when he's hurt."

"Hey." Tony looked past Tim at her. It was a joke she would've made anytime, but coming so soon after her reaction to his telling her about his McCrush, it felt too sharp.

She shot him an apologetic look that turned into a glower when she remembered she was mad at him.

Tim sighed and pushed the chair back from the desk. "It doesn't matter, except that it took me three times the time it should have taken me to write this program. And every ten minutes I think of a shortcut to stick in that might cut down on search time, but I start typing it out and my damn hand doesn't want to move right, and it takes so long I decide it's not worth it."

Tony straightened as Abby stepped back, giving Tim room to get up.

"Hey, Tim, anyone but you would still be writing the program in the first place, so relax. Even slow you're still the fastest guy I know."

Tim held his arm up, his hand twitching and shivering visibly. "I can't make this stop. For all I know there are some typos in the code that I didn't catch and the whole thing's a useless waste of time."

Tony frowned, reaching out and pushing Tim's arm down again. "Knock it off. You're not useless now because of a little nerve damage. It's going to ease up, and you're going to figure out how to compensate if it doesn't ease up all the way. And that's it. Give it some--"

"--time. I know." Tim's jaw went tight. "Except Colin Dougherty's hunting me down now, so I don't _have_ time."

"You told me I'm not allowed to feel guilty about any of this? Fine. You're not allowed to lose faith in yourself. I forbid it."

"It doesn't work like that, Tony."

"That's _exactly_ how it works." Tony thought it was fitting, throwing back Tim's words from the day before about Tony's overdeveloped guilt complex. He faced Tim, eyebrows raised, daring him to argue.

Tim let out a breath and rubbed his hand, frowning. "It's just..."

"Frustrating," Tony finished.

Tim nodded. "...to think that I got away, but..."

"But you can't get away from the effects."

Tim met his eyes. He smiled, sheepish. "Yeah. Something like that."

Tony returned the smile, but it felt strangely sad. "It sucks. I'm not denying that. But it's not the end of the world." He moved in, laying his hand on Tim's shoulder. "You remember what I said to you in the hospital?"

Tim ducked his head, almost seeming to lean in to Tony's touch. "About wanting to fool around with one of the Golden Girls?"

"Blanche is a _lady, _okay? And I said when I was eighty. And no." Tony squeezed his shoulder until Tim looked up. "I said the Doughertys probably picked you because you looked like you'd break easy. But you're stronger than they realized. Stronger than anyone realized. Maybe it'll help to keep that in mind."

Tim nodded, not meeting Tony's eyes.

Tony leaned in, speaking low and intently. "Colin figures that if you're not broken now you're at least cracked. That's why he keeps calling. That's why he's coming after you. He wants to finish the job like he has with every other target he ever had in his sights. Survival can be a form of revenge, you know. So _fuck_ him, and don't crack."

Tim's gaze lifted at that, his jaw tightening as if he hadn't thought of it in that way before.

"And this..." He reached out and took hold of Tim's wrist, which quickly turned into him squeezing Tim's hand, feeling the slight twitching of his fingers. "This is _nothing_. You're still here, still writing insane complicated computer code. And hell, even if you couldn't do that, you're still one of us."

Tim smiled, self-conscious but it looked sincere enough. "Isn't the computer stuff...?" He fell silent, sighing.

"No." Tony didn't even need to hear the words to know what Tim was asking. To know what he probably thought. "It was never just about the computers. You know Gibbs – if he thought that's all you were good for he would've asked for you as a tech consultant. He doesn't bring on agents that he doesn't trust to do the whole job."

Tim searched his face, but Tony had no doubt in what he was saying, and he knew it showed. Besides, even if Tony was a nice guy who might've lied to make Tim feel better, but there was no denying Gibbs' part of all this. No denying that Gibbs would never have risked his team to bring on an agent he wasn't confident about.

It had taken a while for Tony to see the things Gibbs had first seen in Tim. It took him a while to get it. But he did.

Tony slipped his fingers through Tim's without thinking much about it. "Don't let some vindictive asshole like Colin Dougherty make you doubt yourself. Because none of us doubt you, Tim. I promise you that."

Tim nodded. Firm, steady, with a sudden gleam in his eyes that hadn't been there in...days. "Okay. I hear you, Tony."

"Good." Tony nodded back at the desk. "This is more of a lead than any of us have, so keep with it and call when you track the fucker down."

Tim smiled. His hand, warm and shivering, tightened for a moment around Tony's before he broke the hold. "I really wish I knew what kind of tickets they were talking about. That would make this a hundred times faster."

Tony grinned, grabbing him around the shoulder and ushering him back to the desk. "Here's hoping they weren't tickets to the opera."

Tim snorted. "Oh, yeah, culture just dripped from those guys." He sat down, his brow furrowing. "No, they were definitely planning to leave. In fact, Colin said something..." He hesitated, the motors turning in his head in that way Tim had that almost made the shift of gears visible. "Something about how much he hated traveling on the cheap."

Tony smirked, but instinct told him to keep his trap shut and give Tim a minute.

Tim's head tilted a little. He stared at the scrolling names on the computer screen. "You know..."

Tony waited, proud as he watched his probie's motor turning.

"He didn't say 'buy'. He said..." Tim's eyes went wide suddenly and he sucked in a breath. "Oh my _God_. I am such an idiot."

"What'd he say?"

"He said 'take care of'."

Tony blinked. "Take care of the tickets?"

"Yes!" Tim shot him a bright grin before ducking down and attacking the laptop keyboard with new energy.

Tony laughed. "Is there a ticket day care or something? I'm not following you here."

"Just give me an hour to track down..." Tim trailed off, his focus narrowing on the screen.

Tony squeezed his shoulder and headed for the door. "Call us when you have your revelation, then."

"Will do."

Abby moved back and out of the doorway as Tony approached, and he tried not to blush at the idea that she'd been there the whole time and he had completely forgotten about her.

"Hey. Tony?"

He turned in the doorway to face Tim. "Yeah?"

"Thanks." Tim smiled, and Tony saw with a little tingle of happiness that it was the same soft, sort of sweet smile he'd given Tony the night before after that nightmare. "For last night, and for this."

Tony grinned. "Anytime."

"I'm serious. You didn't have to take on babysitting duty, and...I appreciate it. Even when I don't." Tim met his eyes, his smile fading into solemnity. "Thank you for being a friend. A pal. A confidante."

Tony beamed, hard, when he saw the humor bubbling up in Tim's eyes, betraying the solemnity. "You know, if you threw a party..."

Tim laughed.

Tony walked out of the office, warbling loud and off-key and embarrassing just because he knew behind him Tim would keep laughing. "'Invited everyone you kneeeeew, you would seeee the biggest gift would be from me...'"

Abby stood by the door that would take Tony to the elevator. She was staring at him, wide-eyed and silent.

Tim was safe behind the glass door of the rear office, so Tony sighed and dropped his grin. "Tell me you don't know the song and I'll lose all hope in the younger generations."

Her mouth worked. "First of all, I'm not much younger than you. Second, everyone knows the Golden Girls theme song, and if they don't they should. Third..." She pushed from the wall, approaching him.

Tony had to fight the urge to back off. Abby was scary sometimes.

But she smiled as she got close, and when her hands stretched out it was only to grab him by the arms. "He likes you, okay?"

Tony hesitated, almost relaxing. His voice was oddly soft when he answered. "He told you that?"

"He doesn't have to. I know Timmy. I know that look in his eyes when he watches you. It's the same look I used to get watching Robert Smith on stage as a kid. Just a crush. Something he could live with." She smiled uncertainly. "But he couldn't handle it if you started messing with him. And I won't sit back and watch anyone hurt Tim."

Tony studied her. "So...why are you smiling?"

"Because I just watched what happened in there, and I'm not blind." She pulled him in, throwing her arms around him. "Sorry I yelled at you. I didn't know."

"Know what?" He returned her hug, though, because for all his mixed feelings about Abby he really didn't like when she was mad at him.

"I didn't know you meant it. I mean..." She pulled back, grinning. "Don't get me wrong. I'll still kill you if you hurt him."

Tony nodded. "I figured that went without saying."

"But I'll give you a chance to not hurt him first." She beamed, releasing him and slipping around him back to her table and her scrapings.

"You. Um."

She looked back, eyebrows raised.

Tony glanced back at the office. "You really think he'll go for it?"

"For you?" She laughed as she turned back to take her seat at the table. "You have absolutely no idea what you're in for. That's what I think. Just do me one favor."

"What's that?" he asked warily.

"When you guys get all this sorted out and hop into bed together, would you..."

"What? Tape it for you?" He flashed a grin, relieved enough to joke.

She shot him a predatory look. "Please."


	12. Chapter 12

The minute he stepped into the elevator he knew it was coming.

God only knew how. It was in the air. Something ominous, but indescribable. If Tony's life was a horror movie, there would have been some bass-heavy music being cued up in the background.

A cop's instincts never left, and sure enough...

When the elevator doors opened, there was Gibbs.

Standing like he was expecting Tony. He pinned Tony with serious blue eyes and stepped in as the doors began to shut, daring Tony to try to leave.

Tony knew his boss too well to even attempt escape. He sighed and sank back against the wall, quiet. It _would _have been a nice lunch break, anyway.

Five seconds into the ride Gibbs' arm came out, finger flicking the emergency stop without ceremony. Then he turned, leaning back against the doors and staring at Tony with an unwavering gaze.

"Hey. Boss." Tony grinned, quick and awkward. His gut twisted, nervous in that way he always got when Gibbs' attention was focused solely on him. Like a nervous kid, like he had to have dad's approval but couldn't stop fucking up long enough to get it.

Gibbs regarded him.

"I thought we were kind of on a time crunch here. Killers to catch, justice to deal out. That kind of thing?"

Gibbs stared.

"Colin Dougherty. Insane killer." Tony hesitated. "Any of this ringing a bell?"

Not a shift, not a blink of those unnerving eyes.

Tony swallowed. "Usually you at least hint at the reason when I get called to your office--"

"I don't like..." Gibbs said, slow and thoughtful.

Tony's mouth clamped shut.

"...being lied to."

Tony blinked, straightened. His nervous grin faded. "Nobody's...I'm not..." Shit, he couldn't even finish, because he _was _lying to Gibbs.

Gibbs' eyes drifted to the side, still thoughtful, as if Tony hadn't spoken. "I give you a hell of a lot of space away from this building. I don't care what you do or where you go when you're not on duty. As long..." He pinned Tony with his gaze again then. "As long as you don't bring it here with you. If you bring it here, it isn't yours anymore. It's the team's."

Tony wondered if it was worth trying to play innocent. "I haven't brought anything into this building that's interfered with my doing my job," he said, honest enough.

"No?"

Tony saw the challenge in that answer. Saw Gibbs' quirked eyebrow, his almost bemused not-buying-it-DiNozzo look.

He folded his arms over his chest. "No."

"My mistake then," Gibbs said, nothing giving in his voice at all. "Because I was sure you were distracted, overemotional, and keeping secrets from the rest of your team."

Tony's mouth tightened. "Is there one person on this team who wasn't distracted and overemotional while they had Tim?"

Gibbs' eyes flashed, but he allowed it. "I don't like secrets, not when they surround a case. I gave McGee some space, figured he'd come to me when he was ready. But he won't, because you're standing in the way."

Tony winced, surprised. "In the _way_?"

Gibbs regarded him, arms folded over his chest. "I gave you some space," he kept on, "because you're taking care of your teammate. But you just keep playing human shield, and that's hurting both of you."

Tony swallowed back another protest. He returned his boss's stare with more courage than he could usually summon in the face of that look.

Gibbs frowned. "I'm not stupid, Tony, and Ziva's seen too much of the world to be naive. Abby believes McGee got off with a burned arm and some rope damage, but she's the only one. Whatever help you think you're being to him treating this as a secret, you're not."

Tony just shook his head. Tim was starting to trust him, starting to relax and smile and really believe that Tony was there to help, not tease. There was no way Tony was going to fuck that up now.

Gibbs' frown deepened but his eyes went soft suddenly. "Secrets are poison, Tony. You know that better than anyone. They always come out in the end, when no one's ready for it."

"Boss." The softness in Gibbs' eyes, the understanding, was enough to crack Tony's determination. Not break it, but fracture it. "You said make it a report we can stick to, and I did. Nothing has to come out."

"Until Colin Dougherty decides to start taunting with details." Gibbs spoke evenly. "To keep his hold on Tim. To make sure his victim suffers the entire time he's free, until the moment Dougherty finishes the job."

Tony frowned.

"You've been at this long enough to know – why did the Doughertys start working in sexual abuse with the rest of their crimes? Why did Tibbett have semen in his stomach? Why did Colin's call to McGee in the hospital start with a rape threat?"

Tony looked away from Gibbs. He didn't like this, even if he had figured from the start that Gibbs was too observant not to pick up on what had happened to Tim.

Still, obediently he answered. "The Doughertys are psychopaths." He held up a hand before Gibbs could bark at him for not answering seriously. "Rape can be used as a way to insure silence, especially with male victims. Most of the time men won't report crimes with a sexual aspect. But the Doughertys wouldn't have cared about that."

"No. Just the opposite."

Tony thought harder. Kate was the profiler, and Ducky handled a lot of the psych questions nowadays. "So it's not about silence, but I doubt it was about getting off. So." He shrugged. "Control."

"Right. They already knew by the time they had their hands on Tibbett that they were going to kill him. Torture, taunt, scare the hell out of him. And then kill him, same as a dozen like him."

Tony grimaced. "You think they got bored with that."

"Unsatisfied." Gibbs fell silent.

Tony sighed, but took up the thought. "They're psychotic control freaks who have no regard for human lives, so as soon as it occurred to them that just about the worst thing you can do to a man is turn him into a rape victim, that's what they did."

"It's the ultimate in control. So when McGee escaped alive..."

"Colin is using what happened to hold on to his control of Tim from a distance."

Gibbs sighed. "And Tim keeping quiet about it, being terrified that we're going to find out..."

Tony leaned back against the wall, eyes dropping to the floor. "Is playing right into Colin's hands." He hesitated, thinking about it, considering the aspects.

Gibbs already knew, it was just a matter of Tony giving the confirmation. Even talking out this scenario with Gibbs was a way of saying yes, though Gibbs would still want the words.

And it wasn't like Gibbs would go back to Tim bragging about knowing his secret, or yelling about him hiding everything that went on.

And...maybe he was right. Maybe part of what was keeping Tim so shaken and self-doubting now was the secrecy, the idea that if the rest of the team found out, they'd lose respect for him.

Maybe that's why he still hadn't told Tony what else had gone on.

Tony looked up, catching Gibbs' eyes. He was a good boss, best Tony had ever had. He cared a hell of a lot, even if he kept quiet about it most of the time.

Gibbs' worry was in his eyes, and just the fact that it was obvious, visible, meant he was a hell of a lot more worried about Tim than he'd let on so far.

But Tony's inner debate was silenced, instant and hard, by another voice, rough and broken and in shock.

"_Tony, please..."_

Tony shook his head. "Tell all this to Tim, maybe he'll speak up. I think he wants to. I think it'd be a relief. Me? If there are secrets here they're not mine to tell."

Gibbs frowned, but not as severe as he could have. Maybe he understood. "Rule 15, Tony: we operate as a team."

Tony reached past Gibbs, brave but confident about his choice. "Rule 1: you don't screw over your partner." He flicked the emergency stop switch, and the lights stuttered into full power overhead as the elevator hummed into motion.

Gibbs didn't shove him back or stop the elevator again. Hell, there was something in his eyes that looked almost approving.

None of this had been a test. Tony knew that. Gibbs wanted answers, he wanted to know what his agent went through. But Gibbs would respect where Tony came from.

Another reason why he was a good boss.

The elevator doors opened on the floor of the squad room, and Tony consoled himself that if he missed his lunch break, at least his appetite was pretty much ruined.

"Where have you guys _been_?"

They didn't make it two steps out of the elevator before a hot-pink-and-black blur threw itself at Gibbs, seizing his arm and dragging him further into the squad room.

Tony followed behind, trying not to panic instantly. Panic wasn't his style, but this case was getting to him in more ways than one.

Still, he looked past Abby – and honestly, how did she get away with _dragging_ Gibbs around, what was the power she had over him anyway? - and spotted Tim and Ziva standing over by the overhead screen behind Gibbs' desk.

Tim was smiling. Grinning, really.

Tony relaxed. "What's going on? What'd we miss?"

Tim jabbed a button on the wireless mouse, and the display flashed a web page. A schedule.

'Amtrak' at the top.

"You found him." Gibbs freed himself from Abby and approached Tim.

Tony was right behind him, but only had to look at the screen long enough to get the general idea before he was looking at Tim again.

Tim nodded. "Day after tomorrow this is where he'll be. Going all the way cross country to Brownsville, Texas. I can pull up a seating chart and show you where he'll be sitting if you want."

"Won't be necessary, Tim. Yet." Gibbs stared hard at the screen. "He's trying to get to Mexico."

"That's what it looks like."

Tony grinned at Tim, at the proud, almost smug smile on his face. There it was. There was the old Probie. God help him, but he wanted that look to stick around.

So, though it wasn't his normal way of handling Tim's nerd revelations, he asked. "How'd you track him down?"

Tim looked over, met his eyes. He glanced back at Gibbs. "That's...probably not important?"

Abby smacked him on the arm. "Come on, Einstein. You're wounded, that gives you immunity from being cut off. Tell them!"

Gibbs sighed and headed for his desk, but waved an arm as he went. "Go on, Tim. Impress your audience."

Tony found he could look away from Tim just long enough to catch the grin that flickered across Gibbs' face as he sat.

"Okay." Tim looked back at Tony, proud. "Remember when we talked this morning?"

"And you had the little epiphany you wouldn't explain. Sure."

"I realized I was looking for the wrong thing. Conor never said he _bought_ the tickets, he said he 'took care' of them. But if he didn't buy them that day, what else would he have done?" He paused.

Tony grinned indulgently. "Do tell."

"Colin said something about traveling on the cheap. How much he hates it. Well, if they're using stolen credit cards, why would he have to go cheap? Answer – he thinks he has a legit way to pay that no one will be able to track down, and he wants to be able to use it as long as possible. Probably all the way into Mexico." Tim grinned and pushed a few buttons on the mouse, flickering past a few financial-looking statements too fast for Tony to catch what they were.

As he flickered he kept going, rambling and excited and so much like the old him Tony just couldn't take his eyes away.

"So, tie those two things together – Colin wants to stretch out his money, and Conor had to take care of their tickets." He stopped mid-flicker and turned to them, green eyes glittering. "The answer's downstairs with Ducky."

Tony frowned, thinking about it.

"Clancy Dougherty." Ziva offered, though from her furrowed brow it was just a random guess.

Tim grinned over at her. "Exactly! Clancy was dead, and Colin needed to save money."

Gibbs spoke up from his desk, sitting back and watching his team. "Conor didn't buy tickets, he just changed their reservation."

Tim went back to flickering through screens, stopping on another web shot. "A week before they grabbed me, someone booked three tickets to Brownsville over the phone. The morning I was with them, that reservation got altered from three tickets to two. And just this morning, maybe an hour before I thought to look for any of this, someone called in and changed the reservation from two to one."

"Why?" Ziva stared at the screen, unconvinced. "He's that worried about getting use out of some credit card?"

"I asked myself the same thing." The screen images started flickering back again, and Tim stopped on a grainy black and white photo on top of an obituary. Phillip LaPointe, Tony read under the guy's name. Old guy, short obit.

Tim nodded at the picture. "Phil LaPointe died about five weeks ago in Philadelphia. No police report; he was a chronic alcoholic with no family, no friends that the obituary mentions. He was found dead and it was called liver failure. From what I can tell from city records, no one even autopsied him. His name isn't anywhere, and no one's at his place to get the mail when the credit card bills roll in. There's nobody to sound an alert when charges appear after his death."

"But when he doesn't pay that bill, the company will be alerted and should look into the matter. And there's nothing connecting this man to the Doughertys, is there?"

Tim nodded at Ziva. "Only Phil LaPointe's card wasn't used to buy the train tickets. His card was used to buy three separate VISA gift cards at a grocery store in Philly the same day LaPointe died. Nobody's tagged those gift cards, and Colin knows it. Because no one is looking at a guy like LaPointe's financial records. They had him buried in about two days, and I doubt anyone's thought of him since."

Tim turned back to Tony, grinning. "What Colin's trying to hold on to are a set of anonymous credit card numbers that won't ping any alerts _any_where. They've each got $500 on them, minus his train ticket and whatever else he's bought. They are virtually untraceable, and Colin won't think in a million years that anyone will find him through these cards."

"Is there anything tying the Doughertys to LaPointe?"

Tim's confident grin faded, but just a bit. Just for a moment. "Nothing solid, but we know they were in Pennsylvania three days later for the bank robbery at Republic First. And LaPointe was a permanent resident at an extended-stay motel that is exactly the kind of fleabag place the Doughertys seem to like to stay."

"Doesn't seem too big a leap – the Doughertys move in to this place to plan the bank job, one of their neighbors conveniently drops dead, or is easily killed off, and leaves a wallet full of plastic with a few good solid days of worry-free spending attached." Tony turned from Tim to Gibbs to see what he was making of it. If he took a step closer to Tim just to show who he was standing with on this, it was mostly subconscious.

Tim nodded fast. "And the fact that there _isn't_ anything solid linking them and LaPointe is exactly why Colin's so desperate to hold on to those cards. He'll steal a car and use some conspicuous stolen ID while he's here, because he wants us to know he's staying close. But when he does make his escape? He doesn't want NCIS at the train station in Texas waiting for him. He's willing to harass us and put himself at risk only long enough to get away for good."

Gibbs regarded Tim and Tony. "That's nothing solid."

Tim dropped the mouse back on his desk. "My gut's solid. As solid as it's ever been. This is him."

"You're sure of it."

Tim straightened, nodding. "I'm pretty much betting my own life on it, boss."

Tony didn't like that, but it was the truth.

Gibbs met Tim's eyes for a long, silent moment. Feeling him out. Then he got to his feet. "Okay. That means he's got two days to finish the job he started before his ticket out of town. Ziva, Abby. Look at this reservation and trace anything around it you can. Find out if he's got any hotel reservations under any of those credit card numbers, if he's rented a car, bought a carton of milk. Anything. We know where he'll be in two days, but I want him before then."

"Yes sir." Abby straightened and tossed off a sharp salute, grabbing Ziva's arm and moving back towards the elevator. She was practically glowing with pride.

Tony knew the feeling.

He nudged Tim's arm as they waited for instructions. When Tim looked over Tony grinned big.

"Welcome back."

Tim ducked his head, mouth splitting in a smile. His cheeks went pink.

"Tony."

Their attention jerked back to Gibbs.

Gibbs nodded at Tim. "You don't let him out of your sight until Dougherty is downstairs in interrogation. He doesn't go to the bathroom without you shadowing him, you got it? Even in this building. I don't want to see either of you unless I see both of you."

"You got it, boss." Tony couldn't help a grin: it was the easiest assignment Gibbs had ever given him.


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Note- Expect another chapter sometime tomorrow. And for those of you who've commented that you don't really like slash but are reading anyway...I apologize in advance for that next chapter. Or. Next _couple _of chapters._

* * *

Tony spotted it from the street, before Gibbs was even parked. "Boss."

"Yeah." Gibbs' door was open before the car was stopped. Somehow he managed the complicated matter of shifting the car into park, turning the engine off, unfastening his seatbelt, and shooting out the door and around the car before Tony even had his door open.

From the backseat Tim emerged more slowly. "What's going..." But he trailed off as he watching Gibbs speeding towards his house. He saw it for himself.

Tony didn't wait on him. He drew his gun and darted after his boss, catching him only because Gibbs stopped at the door.

The wide open front door.

Behind them on the street a car pulled up behind Gibbs', and Tony wasn't entirely surprised to see Ziva coming out of the car, approaching at Tim's side. Of course she followed them, no doubt to watch that they made it safe to the house and then keep going with them never realizing she was there.

He flashed a tight smile at her, and then it was all business. Gibbs reached for the door, Tony crouched low.

Gibbs nodded Ziva and Tim down the line of the house, and the two of them took off, silent and fast, to move around to the back yard.

No radios to communicate positions, but Gibbs did a slow, steady nodding count. When he reached twenty, he pushed the door open and they made their way in.

It was dark, silent. No signs of any intruders, but Gibbs had a lot of rooms. They did a quick, cursory check of the first floor, clearing the kitchen and living room fast before they met Tim and Ziva clearing from the back.

Gibbs nodded Tim and Ziva upstairs and nudged Tony to follow him to the door that led downward.

The stairs didn't so much as creak as they made their slow way down. It was quiet down there, the light off, the air as thick with wood dust and oil as always. He hung back near the light switch and let Gibbs get further down the stairs.

He barely saw Gibbs' nod through the darkness. His hand darted out and flicked the switch.

Dusty patches of light revealed a half-finished boat frame, tools, shelves, and nothing.

Tony frowned and glanced back up the stairs, but followed Gibbs when he kept moving down the stairs. "Anything?"

"Something." Gibbs crouched once he hit the bottom of the stairs, staring with furrowed brow at the dusty aimless footprints.

Tony would have asked anyone else how they could tell there was anything there. But Gibbs wasn't anyone, and Tony wasn't stupid. He looked around, moved past Gibbs and towards the frame of the boat, in case someone had thought to hide near the shelves in back.

He stopped dead when he moved around to the side of the boat. "Boss."

Shit.

Gibbs stood instantly and came over, stopping short a few steps behind Tony.

Tony swallowed and turned to him. "Well, that just seems _spiteful_, really."

The side of the boat's framing was splintered, some of the boards smashed off entirely, some just chipped and cracked. One of Gibbs' hammers lay in the thick layer of dust under the framing.

Gibbs scowled, but didn't erupt. "Looks like we'll have to check my exes for alibis," he said flatly, though they both knew who had done it.

Honestly, though. Tony approached the boat and fingered a cracked plank and frowned. "What the hell is he trying to prove with this?"

"Who knows? Maybe he just had a few minutes to kill."

More likely, Tony thought, he had seen the boat and realized the sheer man hours it must have taken to build, to sand, to shape. And he wanted to piss them off. Nothing more or less than that.

Gibbs sighed.

Footsteps echoed from overhead, and they both turned. It was Ziva, holding something in a clenched fist as she made her way down.

"Anything?"

She frowned at Tony. "He left a note on the bed of the guest room where McGee has been sleeping."

"Damn it." Tony's gut clenched and he fought back a moment's worry about what a note might say.

But the piece of paper Ziva stretched out to them had only three words on it, scrawled thickly across the middle of the page.

_Found you, Hero._

Gibbs cursed under his breath, no surprise in the sound.

Tony looked up. "Where's Tim?"

Ziva's grimness only grew deeper. "Outside."

"What? Is he crazy?" Tony was past her and halfway up the stairs instantly.

"Tony." Ziva spoke sharply. "Dougherty is gone. He wouldn't leave a note to let us know he was here just to stay around. He doesn't want to get caught, despite his actions. Isn't that what McGee said earl--"

"Then what is Tim doing outside?"

Ziva sighed, but moved after him with Gibbs right on her tail, leaving his injured boat without a look back.

"We found blood by the back door, and his dog is...missing."

Tony was up the stairs before the words were even finished. Damn it, he hadn't even thought about Jethro. Tim loved that dog, and it was a hard-won love given their almost lethally rocky beginnings.

He found Tim out in the backyard, crouching beside some bushes lining Gibbs' back fence.

Tim looked over, half-straightening, when he heard Tony coming, but relaxed when he saw who it was. He looked pale, unsteady. A complete 180 from where he had been twenty minutes ago as they left the Navy Yard.

"I heard something, I think..." He crouched back on the grass. "Jethro wasn't inside, Tony. I think that...that son of a _bitch _hurt my dog."

"We'll find him." Tony looked around, but it was too dark outside to see much of anything.

"There was blood. I don't know if it was human or animal. If he shot my dog...only _I'm_ allowed to shoot my dog, Tony." There was an element of tightness in Tim's voice, panic escaping like helium leaking from a balloon.

Tony hit his knees on the cold grass beside Tim. "Relax, okay? We'll--"

"Relax?" Tim stood almost the moment Tony joined him on the grass, maybe realizing that Jethro the giant German Shepherd wasn't concealing himself in an anemic rosebush. "Why the hell should I relax? There's a killer out there hunting me down, playing games with me, coming to this _house _and hurting my _dog!_"

Tony got to his feet, coming at Tim and gabbing his arms. "Hey. Knock it off."

Tim pulled away, or tried to. Tony's grip tightened, holding him where he was.

"Knock it off," he said again, sharp. "He's a bastard and a coward who plays stupid games because he knows the minute he shows himself we're going to kill him. He wants you hysterical, wants us distracted, so we don't have time to find out where he's going. Right? He's keeping us jumping so we don't find that train ticket."

Tim shook his head, struggling for just a moment before he stopped. He met Tony's eyes, features unclear through the darkness but the sheen in his eyes clear. "It's working," he said, shoulders sagging. "I don't know how much more of this..."

Tony's grip relaxed, but he didn't let Tim go. He moved up a step, closing the gap of dark air between them. He met Tim's eyes steadily. "You can take it." There wasn't a hint of doubt in his voice. "We've got your back."

"It just..." Tim shook his head. "What does he want? I don't understand it, Tony. Does he want me to be scared? He's already got that. Does he want to hurt me? Because he's already done enough of that to last a lifetime. I don't get why he keeps coming and coming. Just because..."

"Because you got away," Tony finished, grim. "That's it, Tim. That's all the reason he needs. You survived him. His brothers didn't survive us. You're the focal point because you stepped up and took my place, and you already know..."

"Don't, Tony." Tim looked away, throat working.

"You already know how sorry I am for that." Tony pushed ahead stubbornly. "You think you can't handle this, I think you can. And what's the alternative? You take off, hope he doesn't track you down somehow?"

"I don't know!" Tim turned away, wrenching his arms out of Tony's relaxed grip. "If I'm wrong about that ticket--"

"You're not."

"If we don't catch him at the station..."

"We will."

Tim looked over, and his eyes went past Tony back towards the house. He tensed, drawing a deep breath and swallowing whatever hypothetical he was going to try next.

Tony glanced back and saw Gibbs waiting for them in the doorway to the house. He was close enough to have heard everything, but he wasn't speaking.

Tony frowned and turned back to Tim. "Look." He stepped up to him and lay his hand on Tim's arm, and ignored it when Tim tensed that much more. "There isn't a single person on this team who is willing to let Colin Dougherty go. Even if you don't trust yourself, trust us. We're not going to let you down."

Tim swallowed. His shoulder relaxed under Tony's hand. "What if I let you down?"

Damn it. That doubt, every little shiver in Tim's voice, made Tony want to swing at someone. Even if he couldn't get his hands on Dougherty, he wanted some kind of fucking revenge. Anyone would do.

He hesitated just long enough that Tim sagged. His hand came up, twitching and unsteady, and he sighed.

"I trust you guys. You know I do. But I don't trust myself anymore. I can't even..." He gestured his shaking hand, sharp.

Tony grinned, tight and wild. "Sure you can." He took hold of Tim's wrist. "You've got to stop focusing on this like it means anything. It didn't stop you from hunting down that train ticket. Didn't stop you from putting on an Exposition Show in the squad room to explain to us simpletons how you did it."

Tim looked up at him, his eyes bright and troubled.

"You remember when I said they probably targeted you because you looked like you'd break easy?"

Tim nodded, short and sharp.

"And how I underestimated you myself, up until the moment you told them to take you instead of me?"

Tim regarded him.

"And how none of us thought you'd be capable of the kinds of things you pulled off while they had you? That message you sent over the phone?"

Tony's grip eased on his wrist. His voice lowered, aware of Gibbs standing by the house watching them, but not so aware that it shut him up.

"I think you underestimate yourself the same way. I think there's some voice in your head telling you that you're just a soft computer nerd who has no right surviving the kinds of things you've been through. Like you ought to be weak, like you ought to be useless because he did a little damage to your hand."

Tim's mouth opened, but shut again, wordless.

"You're a smart guy, Tim. So if Colin Dougherty's realized by now that you're not going to break, and I realize it, and your whole team knows it, how come the lesson hasn't filtered through your giant brain yet?"

Tim snorted softly. He looked away, less tense but unconvinced.

Tony reached out and planted his hands on Tim's jaw, turning him right back to face Tony. "You're as strong as any of us, Tim. Deal with it."

Tim's face was cool from the night air, his pulse was jumping. But he didn't pull away, and he didn't look away.

Tony met his eyes, intent and focused and waiting for the moment his words sank in.

What he got instead was a different kind of moment.

A moment when their gazes locked together and Tim's throat worked under his hand, and Tony's grip softened into a lighter touch. And they were standing so close, and things were...God, so fucking complicated between them. So much was there, so many strong feelings Tony hadn't associated with Tim before this case began.

He wanted to say something, but his mind couldn't begin to find words. It would've been like a blind man trying to describe color, him trying to label and understand what was happening between them.

Tim drew in a breath and let it out, and the warmth of the sigh touched Tony's face.

"McGee!"

They both jumped at the shout. Tony's hand dropped and they both went for their guns.

On the doorstep Gibbs – and holy shit, Gibbs had been standing there watching all that – was already in motion, moving onto the grass and around to the back gate.

Ziva. From the front yard, it sounded like.

Tony and Tim were side by side, chasing after Gibbs with guns drawn. The gate at the side of the house was open from their arrival, and they sped through it and around to the front...

Tony slowed, relaxing when he saw Ziva's raised eyebrows and almost-smile.

She glanced their way, and pointed up the dark road.

Tony looked, and squinted at the sight of a figure trotting down the street from one pool of lamplight to the next. A short, four-legged figure.

He grinned, turning to Tim.

Tim's face seemed to sag with relief. He jabbed his gun into the holster and moved fast past Ziva and into the road. "Jethro?"

The dog perked up, his trot speeding to a run. If he was hurt it didn't seem to slow him down.

Tony moved up slowly to join Ziva and Gibbs as the dog sped up the road and Tim crouched and they collided hard enough that he fell back onto his ass in the middle of the street.

He heard Gibbs echo his laugh, relief shared between the three spectators. Relief for Tim's sake, if nothing else.

Tim laughed as Jethro swiped at his face with his big stinky dog tongue. His hands were buried in the dog's fur, as close to a hug as anyone could trap a giant squirming retired police dog into.

Tony broke away from Gibbs and Ziva and approached. "Might want to take that inside, Tim. This is a respectable neighborhood, they don't understand your kind of love."

Tim looked up, grinning.

Tony's steps slowed. His breath caught for a moment in his chest, and his grin went crooked and strange.

"He isn't hurt," Tim called over, slowly getting to his feet though he stayed bent to rub his dog's ears lovingly.

"Good. I don't know how to get animal blood off the interior of my car," Tony answered automatically.

Tim rolled his eyes as he approached them, Jethro at his heels. "No, Tony. He's not hurt. That means the blood by the door..."

"Dougherty's." Gibbs and Ziva came up to join them on the sidewalk. Gibbs leaned down to pat Jethro's head. "Good dog."

"That means Jethro's got his scent, boss." Tim nodded down the road Jethro had come walking down. "He chased the car Dougherty took off in. That's where he's been, I'll bet you anything. Probably got pretty far, too, before he lost it. If we bring him to the train station day after tomorrow, he'll lead us right to him."

"Are you sure? He was a drug dog, right? Not a--"

Tim held up a hand, stopping Tony. "I research everything, Tony. You think I didn't look up the history of the dog that took a piece out of me before I took him home?" He grinned. "We might need something to remind him of Dougherty's scent by then, though. Something he touched, maybe? Since we don't have clothes or..."

Gibbs smiled suddenly, as fierce as any of his smiles. "Tony, go down to the basement and get that hammer, huh? Use a rag or something, don't go contaminating the scent."

Tony laughed, sharply amused by the fact that Colin's own spiteful act was going to get used against him. "You got it, boss."

"And you." Gibbs turned to Tim.

Tony hung back enough to listen.

"You grab a change of clothes. We're going for a drive."

* * *

"What is this place?"

Gibbs followed Tony's dubious eyes up the side of the building. Maybe ten stories high, full of dusty old windows and crumbling brick landings.

And man, what a shitty part of DC. It was the kind of neighborhood Tony didn't want to be seen in in daylight, much less after midnight.

Tim hiked his pack over his shoulder and joined them, frowning up. "Boss?"

"It's called a safe house, McGee. Don't complain." Gibbs left them behind and headed for the front door of the building.

Tim and Tony traded a look. Tony looked after Gibbs, then turned and went back to his car. He popped the trunk, pulled out the overnight bag he always kept in the car. Too many work-related accidents had left him without a change of clothes and forced to wear some embarrassing smurf suit from autopsy.

And hell, guys like him always thought to carry around an overnight bag. Eternal optimist.

He slung the bag's strap over his shoulder and clapped Tim's arm as they followed Gibbs. "I'm your shadow, remember? If you're staying in this pit you're going to need a bodyguard."

Tim flashed a faint smile, but didn't answer. He looked up as they moved through the doorway. The wilted carpet and dull light inside wasn't much more heartening than the outside.

It was a hotel, or an apartment building converted from an old hotel. Had to be sixty or seventy years old, and had probably gone that long without a thorough cleaning.

"Okay, I've sat on witnesses in safe houses before, boss. They're usually actual houses. And not shitty ones."

"This one isn't NCIS." Gibbs stood at the paint-chipped doors of an elevator, waiting patiently.

"Then who...?"

Gibbs flashed a smirk. "Fornell owed me a favor."

"Oh, Jesus. Of course, cheap FBI shithole."

Gibbs glanced at Tony. "Dougherty's had his eyes on us if he found my house." The vein at Gibbs' temple pulsed, but his voice stayed even. "We don't know what he knows, so at least one degree of separation from NCIS is safer."

"I think I'd rather take my chances with Dougherty." Tony glanced past Gibbs. "What about you?"

Tim hesitated, looking at the closed doors for a moment as if gathering his courage. He faced Gibbs. "Boss, what I said outside your house..."

"Isn't about that, McGee."

Tim kept going, too fast to be as casual as he was trying for. "I was just venting. I'm not...I can handle Dougherty. I can make it one more day."

"Yeah, you can." Gibbs glanced over at him for the barest instant before facing the doors again. "He wants you dead before he catches that train. This place may look like a shithole, but it's wired in ways you'd never even guess. We'll have agents down here." He nodded across the old, empty lobby at a blank-faced old man behind the counter. "Inside the office in back. We've got places to put people across the street. It's FBI, that means it's wired to hell and back."

Tony followed his gaze. Once he stopped staring at the unidentifiable stains in the worn graying carpets, and the waterspots on the walls, he found a few telling signs. The security cameras blinking red lights from the walls were new, and nice. And there were a lot of them for a place so old and run down.

"It's an operating business," Gibbs went on. "But the top three floors are kept empty, and the elevator's rigged to send an alarm if anyone tries to access those floors. Got two stairwells, also under surveillance. No one's getting in here or up there without setting off about five different warnings."

Tony felt a little better, anyway. If Tim was going to be trapped in a spook house, at least it was secure.

Tim didn't seem appeased. Just the opposite. "Boss, I don't need this."

There was a hollow ding, and the doors in front of them split open with a pained grind of old motors. Gibbs stepped onto the elevator. Tony hesitated, but followed.

Tim stared at them, his bag over his shoulder. "You want me to hide here. You don't think I can do my job."

Gibbs reached out and calmly grabbed the strap of Tim's bag. He unceremoniously yanked him into the elevator, and rounded things out with an audible _thwack_ to the back of Tim's head.

Tony hid a grin.

Tim turned on Gibbs even as the doors pushed slowly shut. "Boss, I'm not--"

"Smile for the cameras." Gibbs pushed the button for the ninth floor, and nodded up at the corner of the elevator.

Tony saw the camera shift, angling to sweep the entire elevator.

Gibbs glanced up at it and away again, waiting.

The elevator shuddered into motion a moment later.

Gibbs turned to Tim once they were making their alarmingly jarring journey upwards. "If I thought you couldn't do your job I'd ask for your badge, McGee. Instead I'm giving you tomorrow off and telling you to stay here, keep your head down, and don't give Dougherty a reason to hurt anyone else."

Tin winced, but didn't relax. "If he wants to kill me so badly do you think he'll just give up when he can't find me?"

"Nope. I think if we know you're safe we'll be able to focus on catching him." Gibbs paused, then allowed, "I also think if he can't find you it might push him into doing something rash."

Tony grinned. "And we're not talking about a master of rational thought to begin with."

Gibbs nodded.

Tim didn't seem convinced, but he sagged back against the wood-paneled wall and didn't protest.

Gibbs turned to Tony in the silence, looked at the bag at his waist with a raised eyebrow.

Tony shrugged. "Your orders. I'm McShadow."

Gibbs smiled faintly.

The doors forced themselves open finally, dumping them in a dingy hallway no better than the lobby downstairs.

Tony sighed. "If I wake up with fleas..."

The room wasn't so bad, actually. Probably because actual FBI agents stayed there, sitting on witnesses or whatever they used the place for, it was in better general shape than the building itself. At least the furniture didn't make Tony itch on sight, and it was a big spread. Two bedrooms, big living room area, tiny closet for a kitchenette.

Tony'd had worse apartments.

"We've got a team coming to stay across the street, watch the doors. Your dog's going to join them."

Tim frowned at Gibbs from his poking exploration of the couch.

"You said yourself, he'll be able to hunt Dougherty down faster than us. If our guys spot anyone matching his description, Jethro gets put to work."

Tim hesitated, but smiled after a moment. "Just don't let Abby know. She wants him to stay happily retired."

"I think she'd forgive me this once," Gibbs answered dryly. He nodded at Tony. "If you hear anything you're not expecting, play it safe. Shouldn't be anyone on this floor, or the ones above and below it. Don't get too comfortable. Rule 25, Tony."

Tony nodded.

Tim waited until Gibbs was gone before he asked. "Rule 25? I don't think I know that one."

"The cheerful Rule 25." Tony hiked his bag over his shoulder and sent Tim a wry smile. "'_Nowhere_ is completely safe.'"


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: Um. Slash ahead. :-) _

* * *

Once he got past the fact that it was a feebee safehouse and shitty hotel in a lousy neighborhood, Tony was actually pretty comfortable making himself at home. It _was_ a hotel, after all, even if it was a shitty one. A quick call downstairs and one of Fornell's guys, who were trading shifts with the teams from NCIS, had brought up the morning paper.

He hadn't brought up the clean towels or selection of breakfast pastries Tony had also requested, but that was hotel service for ya.

All in all, though, it wasn't bad. It didn't feel anything like a vacation, but it wasn't the huddled, scared hide-out it could have been.

"One more day."

Tony looked up from the paper, stifling a yawn. "Wha?"

Tim stood in the doorway in the boxers and MIT t-shirt he seemed to live in whenever he wasn't at work. The shirt was hanging too loose, Tony couldn't help but notice. And the boxers were riding low – another sign of how much weight he'd lost since this whole thing began.

Tim shuffled in, covering the yawn he caught from Tony. "One more day," he said again, dropping onto the couch beside Tony. "That ticket is for tomorrow. Which means if Gibbs is right and Colin's going to make his big move before he leaves..."

"He'll do it today. Yeah." Tony stared at the paper, distinctly not even thinking about the guy suddenly sitting next to him. He wasn't overly aware of the way the cushions dipped when Tim sat. He wasn't noticing pale knees or the way that shirt was worn into threads at the seams.

He wasn't sure when it had occurred to him the night before that he and Tim were holed up alone in a top-secret, solitary hotel room, but ever since he first realized it he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Abby had all but handed Tim over to Tony. Tony had all but accepted that his strange crush on his Probie wasn't going to just go away.

All that was left, really, was actually doing something about it.

"I don't know if I should take Gibbs up on the offer and take the day off, or if I'm better off going to the Navy Yard." Tim sighed – something else Tony didn't pay attention to, especially the rise and fall of his chest.

Tony cleared his throat, folding the paper closed – bad news anyway, why the hell did he bother reading that crap when he got nothing but bad news at work – and setting it on the scarred coffee table.

"Look, Tim. You're still pretty new to the team, and--"

"Five years, Tony. Five years I've been working on this team."

Tony shot him a look, smiling when he saw the old familiar half-hearted offense in Tim's eyes. "_And_," he continued meaningfully, "you don't yet appreciate the...the _majesty_ of LJ Gibbs willingly offering someone a day off work."

Tim rolled his eyes, but smiled. "If I take the day off, you have to take the day off too, right? Since you're my bodyguard now."

Tony grinned. "I'm not saying that isn't a consideration. I'm just saying that when miracles occur, we should open our minds and hearts and be accepting of them."

"Gibbs offering me a day off is a miracle now?"

Tony met his eyes. "Five years, Tim."

Tim thought about that. He chuckled. "Okay. Miracle."

"So?" Tony waited, expectant.

Tim laughed. "Fine, let's embrace the miracle. But if Gibbs calls us in an hour asking where we are, expecting us to have come in either way, you get to take the call."

Tony grinned in triumph. "No problem. And look, man, Colin Dougherty can't get within a hundred feet of the place. We'll order some pizzas, watch some bad TV, and boom. There's his one day left. He won't get a single shot at hurting you again."

Tim leaned back into the corner of the couch, sighing. "Just make sure we check the pizzas for arsenic when they get here."

"We'll call downstairs, have them feed Jethro the first piece." He winced almost as the words were still coming out – might be a bit early to joke about threats to the mutt, considering last night.

"Hey." Tim lifted his head enough to scowl, but dropped it back against the couch with no more offense than he would have normally taken. "He's a drug dog, not a poison dog."

Tony didn't bother answering. His eyes were stuck, caught on the exposed length of Tim's throat as he sagged back, still limp from sleep.

He was relaxed, and that was something Tim wasn't lately. Not very often. He was relaxed, and casual, and smiling in bemused outrage in defense of his dog.

Tim wasn't the hottest guy in the world. He didn't move with any kind of affectation, no sexy smirks or deliberate touches, not even a lot of grace. He was just a guy. A normal, nice kind of guy. Slumped over there on Tony's couch he was a regular guy in his boxers and t-shirt, still tired so early in the morning.

Tony couldn't stop looking.

Tim was just a guy, yeah, but he was Tony's guy. He was the first person in years Tony really felt like he _knew_. He was the first guy in a while who actually knew _Tony_, and knew parts of him Tony didn't like most people knowing.

Tim was sheepish grins and sarcasm, nerd rambles and stumbling words and absolute fucking brilliance.

Tim had saved his life. Tim had argued a psychopath out of his plans, had talked three guns away from Tony, and had walked out in Tony's place to take the punishment that shouldn't have been his. Tim was the guy who fought, angrily, against Tony feeling guilty about any of that.

Tim was good, and loyal. Tim wouldn't stab Tony in the back. He wouldn't leave when he got to know the real Tony, because he knew him already.

"Tony."

Tony stirred from his thoughts enough to realize that he was staring at Tim. Openly, unwaveringly staring. And Tim's eyes were open, watching him stare.

Tony didn't know where Tim got the courage to walk out with the Doughertys, but it had to be the same kind of thing that kept Tony from looking away right then. The two things didn't compare, of course, but it sure as hell felt like it took all his courage to meet Tim's eyes.

Tim frowned. "Sometimes I can't tell what it is in your eyes when you look at me. Ever since...that day, in that stairwell, there's something..." He looked away from Tony, head tilting back against the cushions again. "If it's guilt...and sometimes I think it _must_ be guilt."

"It's not." His voice was quiet, his stomach twisting uncertainly. Was this it? Was he about to get things out into the open?

There couldn't have been a less appropriate time, really – Tim had been shaken and scared the night before, and he had to be a bit now even if he was hiding it. Completely inappropriate to hit on the guy before they got this whole mess resolved.

"Then what is it?" Tim didn't look at him, didn't move. He hardly seemed to be breathing. "You're too smart a guy not to know what I'm talking about. What is it?"

Tony's mind wanted to muzzle his mouth. But his gut, his chest, his nerve endings, everything else in him wanted to answer as bluntly and simply as he could.

Simply being inappropriate had never stopped Tony DiNozzo from doing anything before now.

Finally he sighed, tired of fighting himself. "You're too smart not to be able to guess," he answered, looking away from Tim.

"I've never been smart that way," Tim answered, soft. "Every time I think things are one way, they aren't. There's no pattern to people. No theorem or formula that I can fall back on. I'm an _idiot _about people, and too optimistic, and I stopped trying to guess about things like that a long time ago."

Tony frowned, hearing the old, lost sort of note in those words.

He wondered suddenly just how badly Abby had broken his heart. How much of her current concern for him came from her own guilt over hurting him?

How could Tony, who proudly confessed to being one of the least reliable guys in the fucking world when it came to relationships, even think about saying something? How could he even be feeling it?

There wasn't a halfway point with Tim. They were partners, and Gibbs-partners, not just normal partners. There was no way they could be casual. No way Tony could treat Tim as lightly as he treated every fucking other person he dated. He was an irresponsible jackass.

He was _happy_ being an irresponsible jackass.

He looked over at Tim finally, mouth open to make some joke, to dismiss the whole thing in his own indirect, chickenshit way.

Tim still wasn't looking at him. His head was tilted back, his eyes shut. He was too still, waiting. Tense for whatever answer Tony finally gave.

He expected the chickenshit change of subject. Tony realized that. Tim knew him pretty damn well. He knew exactly how this was going to go.

But Tony couldn't see any other way of doing things. He felt...all these _things _for Tim, all this nameless swirling emotion. But just looking at Tim on that couch...the thick bandage up his arm covering that hideous ugly burn. The shivering of his hand. There were still patches around his mouth, yellowed skin where the bruises weren't entirely gone. His lack of sleep showed in the dark skin under his eyes. He looked a hell of a lot better than he had in that basement, or in the hospital. But he didn't look healthy yet, not like he ought to look.

And with the small, bitter smile playing at his lips he didn't look like Tim, either.

Tony couldn't go halfway with Tim. Either he went nowhere at all, or he went all the fucking way. Abby told him just yesterday morning that he didn't even_ like_ Tim: Tony looked at this bitter, unhealthy version of Tim and knew he'd do just about anything to have his smug, smart, blushing partner back where he ought to be.

Tony knew now how lost he was without Tim around. He knew how much he cared. That had to mean something.

It had to mean everything.

Tony let out a hushed breath, feeling like he was on the edge of something and he really had to make the right move on way or the other, or he was going to regret it later. Why the hell couldn't he figure out which move was right? Where the hell was his cop instinct, his gut reaction?

He glanced beside him again, and his eyes stuck on that small, sharp smile on Tim's face. Strange, not a smile at all, just an upward curve. Nothing behind it but bitter amusement, probably at Tim's own expense.

Tony may not have known which move was right, but he did know that the smile on Tim's face was wrong, and he wanted to get it off. And...hell. Maybe that was the answer right there.

Fuck it. Tony was exhausting himself fighting this war.

He drew a deep breath and slid closer to Tim, leaning in with panic bubbling in his gut.

Maybe curious about the shifting in the cushions beside him, Tim's eyes opened in time to see Tony coming. Tony didn't stop, couldn't make himself stop, but his breath caught as he closed the space between them.

It was nothing, just the slightest bit of friction as his mouth slipped against Tim's. Brief, warm, and then Tony knew at least that his point was made.

He pulled away just far enough to draw a breath, to face Tim with his own kind of bravery.

"It's not guilt," he said again.

Stunned green eyes lifted to meet Tony's gaze.

Tony was stuck there, twisting uncomfortably on the couch, not wanting to pull away yet, just in case. He was frozen, breath stuck in his chest.

Tim's throat worked. He opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked away, then looked back.

"Good." His voice was soft but steady. "I don't want guilt. I don't want pity."

Tony raised his eyebrows, forcing himself to stay close. Tim hadn't pulled away, hadn't wiped his mouth or vomited or anything. That was probably a good sign.

"You know me, Tim," he said simply. "If I felt guilty, if I pitied you, is this what I'd do?"

Tim swallowed, meeting his eyes.

So fucking close. Tony wanted to reach out and touch his face the way he had the night before. Without Gibbs standing by, without the fear in Tim's eyes.

Instead he stayed right where he was, frozen, knowing the next move had to come from Tim. "Me doing this? It's _despite _the guilt. Not because of it."

Tim shifted just a bit. He brought his arm up, and the hand he stretched towards Tony was still shivering.

Tony felt a moment's shuddering relief at the foreign, fucking _right_ feeling of Tim's fingers slipping through his hair, sliding to the back of his head.

Tim watched him, and the bitter smile was suddenly gone without a trace. Something open and wide and real took its place, curving his mouth up softly and lighting his eyes. Small, awed, sweet. Just the smile Tony had vowed to be the cause of as often as possible.

"Good," he said again.

"Oh, thank _God_," Tony breathed out, grinning fiercely. His skin prickled into goosebumps as Tim's fingers toyed with the short hairs at the back of his neck.

Tim laughed, his cheeks touched with color. "What did you think I'd do?" he asked. "Like anyone's ever turned you down before."

Tony met his eyes, as serious as he could manage with that idiot smile spread across his face. "I don't care about _anyone_."

Tim's smile stuck. "No?"

Tony spoke the words Tim probably doubted he'd say. "I care about you."

Tim's eyes flashed with something, something _good_, and his hand pressed against Tony's neck, urging him closer.

Tony went more than happily. He braced his hand on the couch behind Tim's head so he could untwist his body into something a little less awkward.

Maybe he was turning into some horrible romantic in his old age, but the fact that Tim was smiling made their second kiss about a thousand times better than the first.

Tony was a hedonist at heart. Something about the touch of warm, dry fingers at his neck and the soft velvet glide of a heated mouth against his made him absolutely melt. His eyes shut, his hand clenched around the back of the couch.

He didn't know if Abby was exaggerating about the _intense_, but he knew two seconds into this that Tim McGee was no fumbling, uncertain virgin. He found the perfect angle to his head, found the perfect time to part his lips, to slip a practiced, warm tongue across the line of Tony's mouth.

Tony growled, faint and hungry, as he opened to let Tim in. No overeager tongue came jabbing down his throat, no. Tim dipped in, shallow, exploring. Taking his time. His breath was hot against Tony's mouth and cheek, his hand was firm and solid at Tony's neck, holding him almost possessively.

Tony wasn't sure which version of his Probie this was – it wasn't the sheepish rookie, but it wasn't the bookworm nerd who was so cocky about his brains. This was a new McGee, a side of Tim that Tony had never seen.

He'd already lost control of this situation. Tim had taken the lead right from him. And he didn't have a single solitary objection to that. Hell, wasn't Gibbs always saying he had to let the junior agents take point sometime or they'd never learn anything?

He laughed against Tim's mouth helplessly, his fingernails digging into the upholstery of the couch.

Tim pulled back, opening glittering green eyes. His already full mouth was red, wet, but his eyes showed a flash of uncertainty. "That the good kind of laugh?" he asked.

Tony ducked his head, dropping his forehead against Tim's shoulder to hide his face. Such a stupid time for a fit of the giggles, but Jesus.

"It's good," he said after a minute. "Just...this."

Probably the least clear answer in the history of vague answers, but Tim's hand slipped up his neck, threading through his hair, and Tony knew he understood.

"God, Tony. I never thought...I was going nuts."

Tony's laughter faded. "Yeah?" He didn't move, wondering if the private note in Tim's voice would vanish if they made eye contact.

Tim's fingers kept sifting through his hair, seemingly content with Tony's head on his shoulder. "It's hard enough for me not to think about...about you, like this, normally. But lately..."

"Yeah."

"I figured you'd never take me seriously. Because...you never do. But lately you have, and..."

Tony smiled a little – this quiet version of Tim was almost the nervous rookie again. There were lots of little aspects to Tim, apparently, that Tony hadn't thought of before. It was going to be interesting, seeing which aspects showed up at different times.

"Hard for you not to think of me like this, huh?" He didn't sound nearly as casual as he wanted to. "How long...?"

Tim chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through his body into Tony's. "Long enough to fool myself that it was possible, and then force myself to get over it, and then fool myself all over again. A few times."

Something in Tony warmed, something even brighter and hotter than the flush he was already feeling. He slipped his hand up Tim's arm, and tilted his head to brush his lips against Tim's neck.

Tim shivered, his fingers clenching in Tony's hair.

Tony smiled against his skin. Since the first time he ever made out with a girl in junior high school he'd been addicted to the feeling of it. The heavy breathing, the shivers, the gasps and moans, the warm slide of skin against skin.

It lit something in him, something grasping and desperate. Something that wanted to make a connection, maybe. Something that didn't want to be remote and smug and cocky.

Tony was a needy guy. He knew that. But his needs were pretty simple.

He hoped Tim didn't mind that. Tim...wasn't simple.

Tim drew back, leaning against the couch when Tony chuckled into neck. "Are you just going to laugh at everything? Is that how you normally operate?"

Tony grinned, but saw the uncertainty that lay behind the question. "No," he said, meeting Tim's eyes before grabbing him right in the MIT and leaning in to taste his throat. "Just can't help thinking," he said between kisses, nips of his teeth, soothing strokes of his tongue, "that it's you."

Tim's breathing was already a bit heavier. "I guess it's a good sign that you know who you're with," he murmured, hand reappearing in Tony's hair, firm to hold him right where he was.

Tony wasn't planning on going anywhere. "Not what I mean," he said before pausing to nip and suck, to deliberately and for the first time in years give his lover a hickey.

Lover. Jesus.

He leaned back to make sure the spot was suitably red, then made the mistake of looking up at Tim's face.

He was caught, there, just like that. Tim's eyes were oddly dark, his mouth full and waiting and in that near-constant pout of his.

Tony swallowed. "I mean, it's _you_. Laugh if you want, but you're the first friend I've had in a long time. First real friend, anyway." He smiled, lopsided. It felt oddly sheepish. "You know me. I'm not just some good-looking guy in a suit with a smooth line, not to you."

Tim smiled at that, and Tony relaxed a little. "I was never into the guys in suits spouting lines," he mentioned. "Even after I figured out that I could be into guys at all."

Tony nodded. "Seriously. I'm not your type. You're not my type."

Tim's smile faded a little. His eyebrows rose.

Tony leaned in, brushing his mouth against Tim's. He slipped off the couch, easing the awkward twist in his spine. In subtle DiNozzo fashion, he planted himself in Tim's lap, knees digging into the back cushion on either side of him.

Tim's smile returned.

"So it's funny," he went on. "But it's not a joke, Tim. Couldn't be."

"No." Tim's hands came up, warm and solid around Tony's waist. The smile stayed put, looking like it was around to stay. "I think I see what you mean."

Tony had been strictly a ladies man for years, since giving up guys as too much effort. But just the feeling of Tim's hands, strong and firm on him the way women never were, brought back a flood of memories that reminded him why he'd loved dating guys.

He licked his lips, thrilling at the way Tim's eyes dropped to his mouth and stayed there.

"I'm not losing you, McGee," he said softly, using Tim's last name to remind them both of their long history before the Doughertys ever haunted their lives. "Not to Colin Dougherty, and not to this. I didn't speak up before now because, well, I fuck things up. I do. Not just Jeanne: every fucking time."

Tim's mouth opened in protest, but shut again, curious. One hand slid back to Tony's spine, toyed with the edge of his frayed t-shirt.

Tony smiled, confident in a way that amazed him. "See, but that's the one good thing that came out of this whole mess with the Brothers Grim. I don't have to worry about losing you, even to some inevitable fuck-up. Because now I know how hard I'll fight to hang on to you. And I know how hard you'll fight to stick around. So even when this all goes to shit, I know it'll be okay."

Tim's eyes flashed, and suddenly Tony was plastered to him. Anything else he wanted to say vanished from his mind, lost in the fierce press of Tim's mouth.

Tim's _mouth_. Jesus, if anyone had told him his Probie could kiss like a fucking devil...

"Tell you what," Tim ground out, voice low and rough. He pulled back enough to flash a strangely heated, strangely confident smile. "Instead of plotting your eventual fuck-up, why don't you let me give you some good reasons to think positive."

Tony's throat worked, his skin prickling and heat pooling down in his belly. "What'd you have in mind, McOptimist?"

"I..." Tim's eyes were steady, almost unmoving on Tony's face. "You...what do you...?" He swallowed, hands twitching against Tony's back.

Tony grinned. Nervous probie was making an appearance. It was oddly endearing. "Well," he said, thinking about it. "I think for obvious reasons I'm not going to force a blow job out of you right from the start."

Tim twitched. "Tony, I'm not--"

"So let's start slow." Tony locked eyes with Tim. "How about you fuck me into this couch."

Tim's indrawn breath was answer enough. "That's starting slow?"

Tony grinned. "It'll break the ice, anyway." He slipped off Tim's lap. "Luckily I'm the kind of guy who keeps condoms in his wallet."

"Gee. I'm shocked." Even Tim's voice was shivering, unsteady. "You're serious about this?"

Tony's grin muted into a real sort of smile. "We've got an entire day and the place to ourselves. I don't know about you, but me? I've been thinking about this so long it feels like..."

Tim smiled, looking amazed. "...like we've already been dating for years."

"I admit, you haven't seen the charming, romantic side most of my dates see, but..."

"I like it better the way we did it."

Tony grinned, and Tim grinned back, and everything felt completely synced up.

He felt _amazing_ just walking over the smaller bedroom where he'd slept the night before. He felt heated and strong and confident, like putting that nervous shiver in Tim's voice had been a goal he could savor.

Nerves didn't find him even in the silence of the small bedroom. He found his discarded slacks from the day before, dug his wallet from the back pocket.

And even the silence didn't make him doubt. They were going to dive right into this over-complicated _thing_ without a pause. Tony was going to get his Probie back, with interest.

Fuck, yeah.

He grinned to himself, running a hand through his hair, glancing in the mirror through the open door of the bathroom. His body was tingling all over, anxious with anticipation.

A movement behind him in his reflection caught his eye, made him twist around. "Wha--"

Tim was on him in a flash, all deep green eyes and firm hands. "You took too long," he rasped out as he grabbed Tony by the front of his shirt and pushed him back against the bedroom wall.

_Fuck_ yeah. Tony dropped his wallet and couldn't have cared less. He opened his mouth to speak, make some random joke about overeager Probies.

But Tim was having none of it. He drove against Tony, pressing him into the wall. His leg pushed between Tony's, forced its way in, and his kiss was hard enough to thump Tony's head against the wall.

It was fierce, unrelenting. Tim devoured him, greedy as a starving man. Teeth clashed and tongues probed, driving deeper until Tony's breath was dangerously low and his willpower to pull away was shattered and unrecoverable.

His knees sagged, but Tim's body pinned him firmly against the wall. His thigh flexed, grinding up into Tony's suddenly wide-awake and aching cock.

Tony grasped at Tim's shirt, clinging for a hold as he tried to match the attack with equal fervor. He mumbled, whimpered, but Tim's mouth caught every sound and swallowed it down without letting it touch the air.

Tony's hips pushed without his permission, driving into Tim's thigh. Five minutes ago he was walking around all cocky, and now he was a minute away from dry-humping Tim's thigh until he exploded in his pants like some teenager.

As if reading his mind, Tim's leg drew back and he broke away from Tony's mouth with a gasp.

Tony panted for air, body awake and alive like he hadn't felt in ages. "Jesus, Tim, I--"

"Bed."

Tony pushed open eyes he didn't realize were closed, and Tim's glazed eyes sent another throbbing pulse through his body.

Tim's voice was so low and thick in his throat it was little more than vibration. "Now, Tony."

"Jesus," Tony got out again as he rushed to obey. He scrambled over to the bed, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tearing it off, tossing it aside.

He dropped onto the bed, laying flat on his back, and his hands went to the waist of his boxers.

"Don't bother." Sharp, strong, Tim's voice had never sounded like that before. "I'll just chew my way through them."

Tony almost laughed, but his cock had other plans. His hands fell away, helpless to disobey Tim when he sounded like that.

He watched Tim approach, all dilated pupils and twitching hands, and he realized that Tim's hesitance back on the couch wasn't the reappearance of nervous Probie after all.

It was Tim fighting to control himself long enough for Tony to make a move.

Tony's body throbbed with need. He fisted a hand in the unmade sheets under him to keep from grabbing his own cock and relieving the ache.

"God, it's always the quiet ones."

Tim tugged his own shirt off. "Tony, shut up."

"Yes, sir."

That did get a fragment of a smile, but whatever animal was driving Tim's body didn't relax enough for a response. He crawled onto the mattress, over Tony, and braced his hands on either side of Tony's head.

Tony whimpered the moment before Tim crushed into him. He felt the hunger now, the insane edge driving him to kiss harder, deeper, taste more and more. His hips drove upwards, frantic, until he found the angle that drove him into a matching erection.

Tim's mouth tore away from his and he groaned, low and rumbling and _fuck _if it wasn't the most erotic thing Tony had ever fucking heard in his life.

Tony's head dropped back, and suddenly Tim's mouth was locked on his throat, kissing a heated trail down his neck, sucking on his adam's apple, nipping at his collarbone. Tony couldn't get a hold on him, fingernails slipping, scratching down the skin of his back.

His eyes clamped shut, focusing on nothing but the weight of Tim, the heat of his mouth. The _want _that practically blasted from his pores.

Tim's mouth clamped on his nipple and Tony arched, shoulders leaving the bed before he sank back again. His hand finally settled in Tim's hair, grasping hold too tightly, pressing like he could keep Tim where he was. Like he had the slightest bit of power over this driven thing his partner had become.

_Intense_, Abby said. Intense was a fucking _insult_ compared to the reality of this.

Tim slipped lower, tracking a line of sharp bites down Tony's stomach. Then he hesitated, breathing unsteady breaths against Tony's navel. "If you didn't mean..." His voice shuddered. "If you want me to stop you've got to tell me. I won't...I can't..."

"Are you fucking insane?" Tony tried to speak lightly, but there was a desperate edge to his voice. "I'm all yours."

Tim's head bent, forehead dropping against Tony's stomach for a shaky moment.

Tony swallowed, easing his grip in Tim's hair, stroking instead of grabbing. "All yours," he said again, the words feeling important.

Tim eyes came up, looking at Tony up the line of his chest.

Tony's words vanished from his mind in the face of the near-helpless desperation on Tim's face. It was him, Tony realized with a whimper, a rush of heat and happiness and a pulse of pleasure. It was _him _that put that need into Tim. Smirking, insufferable Tony fucking DiNozzo.

He clamped his eyes shut in the face of it, only because he realized he was about a second away from coming in his shorts without even being touched. Tony fought to slow his breathing, to find some kind of control.

But Tim moved again a moment later, mouth dragging down the trail of dark hairs that vanished under Tony's boxers. He bent lower.

Tony's hips arched hard when he felt the drag of Tim's mouth over his boxer-covered erection. Tim's hands landed on his hips, holding him still as he mouthed wetly over Tony's boxers.

Tony's mouth opened, wordless noises coming out of him like something from a nutcase holy-roller speaking in tongues.

But a feeling took over, something stronger than lust. He whimpered but tightened his grip in Tim's hair and tugged.

"...wait."

Tim's mouth stilled and didn't lift up for a good few seconds. Like he couldn't force himself off, and Jesus.

Tony shut his eyes, because if he kept looking down at Tim between his legs he was going to lose his willpower. "Not that."

Tim was silent, catching his breath.

Tony felt the question even if Tim couldn't verbalize it. "I'll see you...in that basement, tied up and gagging. I can't..."

Tim stilled. His hand slipped up Tony's thigh, under the leg of his boxers. Just a stroke, a touch. "I know who I'm with," he said after a moment. "You're not forcing..."

"I know. But I can't." Tony's head fell back, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "Not the first time. Nothing that reminds me of that. Nothing that reminds you."

"Tony..."

"Look, Tim, I'm a guy and I think a mouth on my dick is the closest thing to heaven that may possibly exist, so if you fight me on this I'll give in. But...don't." He braced himself and looked down his body at Tim. "Please."

Tim locked gazes with him, and he swallowed. Something soft managed to show through the wild need on his face. Something that made Tony's gut twist.

Tim rose to his knees, slipped up Tony's body and seized his mouth in a deep, probing kiss. Slow, without the frantic edge of minutes ago.

Tony's arms slid around him, holding him tight before rolling them onto their sides, never breaking off the kiss.

Tim groaned and wrapped his arms around Tony, twined their legs together. He'd had a different intent, and Tony had wanted to get fucked, but the moment their bodies lined up and their erections ground together neither of them made any move to unlock from the embrace.

Taking their boxers off might have helped, but it would have meant pausing this. That wasn't an option.

Tony's last threads of memory about a basement and a Dougherty fell away from that bed as they clung together, their bodies grinding and sliding, driving into each other in a rhythm they found easily despite the heavy air around them.

Tony broke the kiss to bury his face in Tim's neck, to let nothing overwhelm the growing pulse of his cock, the grind of Tim's erection against his. The sound of Tim's breath catching with every push, the sound of his own low wordless murmuring.

Tony's hand slipped under the waist of Tim's boxers, clenching against his ass. Tim's hand caught on the back of Tony's thigh, holding tight. They moved like partners, like a single unit, like Tony wasn't sure whose cock was whose.

_Intense._ Even without the frantic drive, the animal need, it was still intense.

Tony liked to laugh during sex, to share grins and really enjoy himself. And he knew Tim, he knew they'd do that. But this? This was something different.

He could feel his gut tightening, his cock pulsing. He pushed his hand between them to grasp Tim through his boxers, to grip sweat-slicked skin through the open fly and stroke him so that in the next breath, when Tony's murmurs became a cry and he came, Tim tensed and sobbed out a breath and came just a moment later.

Pulsing, throbbing with aftershocks, Tony tilted his face up to find Tim's mouth. They kissed slow, deep, heavy bodies curling into each other in those lazy moments when pleasure weighed down their limbs and shut down their brains.

And they slept.

* * *

In the grey, half-awake place between sleep and consciousness, Tony became conscious of a body pushed up against his.

He smiled.

There wasn't a moment's confusion, and that had to mean something. Tony had bounced around a lot of beds in his time, had more than a few where-the-hell-am-I-who-the-hell-are-you mornings. But no, he didn't have to open his eyes, didn't have to wake up entirely. He knew just where he was.

Tim's breathing was deep and even. Tony felt the rise and fall of that breath under his hand, and he stroked his fingers absently up and down. Smiled at the softness of Tim's stomach, the remnants of weight he hadn't managed to lose yet.

He opened his eyes slowly, grinning at the sight of Tim on his back, mouth open and arm flung over his head. He'd look like a kid if it wasn't for the mostly-naked DiNozzo wrapped around his side like some adoring catamite.

God. Tim. Tony couldn't even look at him slack with sleep and not picture him as he had been earlier. Wild and gravel-voiced and hungry for Tony.

Intense, yeah, that's the least of what he was. And Tony's original question burned in his mind stronger than ever – how the hell had Abby gotten a taste of Tim and decided to walk away?

Jesus. Tony had dozens of lovers, he even remembered most of them, but he'd never felt as wanted as Tim had made him feel. No one had ever looked at him that way before. It was big. Really fucking huge. Tony wanted it again, and again and again.

He wanted that soft glow of warmth under all the heat. He wanted Tim's gasping, out of control need. He wanted Tim's mouth through his boxers, and he really, really wanted to feel Tim buried inside him so deep he could taste it.

Jesus, he was making his cock stir just thinking about it.

He shut his eyes again, curling into Tim, pressing his mouth against Tim's shoulder in a moment of indulgence.

Tim stirred, his breath catching as he shifted in sleep. Close to waking, but not there yet.

They really had to get up. Had to figure out what time it was. Day-off miracles aside, they still had a bastard to catch and Gibbs would no doubt be contacting them to work out plans. But Tony found it hard to fight against the wrung-out pleasure making his body limp.

He lay, patient and lazy, as Tim's deep breathing went shallower and his eyes moved under his closed lids. He waited, not moving, not hiding the fact that he was awake and staring.

Finally, Tim's eyes fluttered open and he blinked and stretched his body under the sheets. For a moment he seemed as boneless and utterly content as Tony felt, but almost instantly his eyes shot open wide and he tensed.

Slowly, as if utterly unsure what he would find, he turned his head and looked over at Tony, eyes huge.

Tony smiled, heavy and sated and fucking happy. "Morning."

Tim relaxed instantly, but the wide-eyed look didn't fade. "Um. Morning."

Tony's eyebrows flew up. "You gonna freak out?"

"Freak out?"

"Or are you just gonna repeat everything I say."

"Repeat...?" Tim's mouth curled up. "Oh. I mean...no. No freak outs here." He rolled on his side to face Tony. "What about you?"

Tony sighed, deep and contented, glowing with the smile he couldn't manage to get off his face. "Oh, yeah. I'm just a moment away from complete freak-out."

Tim snorted and nudged him, like they were in the squad room trading barbs. "It shows." His teeth dug at his bottom lip uncertainly. "It's just...I know I can come off...a bit strong."

Tony laughed, loud and deep. He rolled back onto his back, scrubbing the last of sleep from his face.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Tim. You're a writer, you've got to be able to describe this morning just a little more accurately than that."

There was a pause, but Tim sounded amused when he spoke next. "I take it you're okay with it, either way."

"You okayed me right into a sex coma," he agreed cheerfully.

"God, Tony."

Tony looked over, sitting up in surprise. "Are you _blushing?_"

Tim's red face pressed into the pillow, and he mumbled a word that sounded like 'no'.

"How the hell could you...you've got _that_ in you, and you're blushing?" Tony laughed his delight. "Skip the bashful act, Tim. Just tell me exactly what button I pushed that got you going this morning, so I can do it again as often as possible."

Tim dropped on his back, covering his eyes with his hands. His cheeks were still pink but he was grinning. "Shut up. So I like sex. So what?"

"Another laughable understatement. _I_ like sex, Tim. Hell, I only thought I liked sex before. Now I really, really like sex. Really a lot."

"Tony."

"_Always_ the quiet ones. Seriously."

"Would you stop? Jesus."

Tony reached out, tugged Tim's arm away from his eyes. He wagged his eyebrows. "Make me."

Tim rolled his eyes, but lifted up on his elbows. "Morning breath, and I'm really disgusting in these boxers, and I'm starving."

"Hmm." Tony thought about feigning offense, but they were all legitimate arguments. "Okay, tell you what. You promise me that wasn't a one-time thing and I'll let you go clean up unmolested."

Tim sat up. He turned to Tony, twisting to his knees to half crawl over Tony's lap, to close in on him, until Tony was pushed against the cheap headboard of the bed.

Tony swallowed, instantly breathless.

Tim's eyes showed an echo of that almost obsessive intensity he'd had earlier. When he spoke his voice was low, a heavy promise.

"That wasn't even a warm-up, Tony. You're all mine, remember?"

Then he was gone, whistling as he left the bedroom and headed for the master bathroom.

Tony slumped against the headboard, cock stirring and laughter escaping softly. Whatever it was he woke up in Tim that morning, it didn't seem to be going anywhere.

Tony was the luckiest girl at the fucking prom.


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's Note - So I'm writing some of the serious stuff that's ahead for the boys and I got overwhelmed by the urge to give them a few happy sexy moments before the drama returns. _

_So here's this. It's a bit of nothing, really. Nothing that furthers the plot along, just a few more happy minutes. They don't have enough of those in this story. :-) Keep an eye out, because a big chapter's coming tomorrow. _

_...I told myself I wouldn't be one of those authors that begins every chapter with filler notes about what I'm up to. I'll try to get a grip on that. Sorry. _

* * *

"DiNozzo."

"Anders!" Tony beamed and threw the door open wider. "You got a better job!"

Steve Anders was a night-shift agent – Tony had worked with him pretty closely a few years back on a sting operation that put an end to an extortionist threatening active duty Marines by stalking their families back home.

Good guy, but way too uptight. He glowered at Tony, unamused, and held out his offering.

Tony beamed and grabbed the three large cardboard boxes from him. Just a whiff of cheese and tomato sauce had his stomach rumbling.

"You could have just let the delivery guy up. You guys are taking things seriously downstairs, huh?" A joke, kind of, but it did make Tony that much more relaxed to think the backup watching the lobby were on the ball.

Anders glared at him. "Thirty-seven bucks, DiNozzo."

Tony blinked, innocent. "Operational expense, Anders. Don't tell me you paid for it yourself?"

Anders scowled. "Your lunch is not on the acceptable list of expenses, Tony."

"How about _your_ lunch?" Tony nudged the top box towards him. "You really think the two of us are gonna go through three of these?"

Anders frowned, looked at the box, looked back at Tony. He grinned. "You're a good guy for an asshole." And, plucking the top box off Tony's stack, he turned on his heel and headed down the hall.

Tony laughed, kicking the door closed.

From the couch Tim watched him coming, mouth curled in amusement. "People don't like you, do they?"

Tony shrugged, unconcerned. "If they're the right kind of people, they come around. Love me or hate me."

Tim grinned, leaning in when Tony set the pizza boxes down and flipped the top one open. "You're lucky. All I can usually manage to inspire is either annoyance or isn't-he-adorable-for-a-socially-inept-nerd fondness. I wouldn't mind some occasional love or hate."

Tony grabbed the biggest slice of pizza he could spot. "You fishing for serious words, Timmy?"

"I'd settle for the isn't-he-adorable end of the apathy pool."

"Sadly, I think I've moved beyond apathy where you're concerned."

Tim grinned, but was too busy shoving half a slice of pizza into his mouth to respond.

They moved fast through the first pizza, leaving behind a box rattling with some abandoned crusts and a few pepperoni casualties of war. Tony amused himself by thinking about the face Ziva would be making at them if she was there, and finally slowed down when he hit the first slice of pizza number two.

Munching happily, Tony settled back on the couch and stared at whatever the hell was playing on the TV. Some guy with a hammer and a logo-covered apron, saying something about support beams to a worried-looking couple.

Nothing fired up the appetite like getting laid, he reflected cheerfully as he watched Tim make his way through about a third of a slice of the second pizza before giving up and tossing it back in the box. There was a dab of tomato sauce over his lip, and as Tim sat back his tongue darted out and caught the dab.

Tony felt a flare of fire heat in his gut, and if he wasn't so stuffed he would have probably launched himself across the couch.

Instead he groaned and leaned back, patting his stomach.

"What's the rule, anyway?"

Tim looked over at him. "What rule?"

"Is it like swimming? Do you have to wait an hour after eating before you dive in?"

Tim blinked. "Dive in to _what_?" Then he grinned. "Ohhh."

Tony grinned. Ohhh was right.

"I don't think there's any hard or fast rule. You're probably just as likely to cramp up as you would be if you went swimming, but at least you don't have to worry about drowning when it happens."

"Mmm. It'd probably put a damper on things, though. Maybe we'll give it a half hour. Let things settle."

"Good idea."

But Tony wasn't interested in TV shows about home redecoration, and as the minutes ticked by he found himself watching Tim more than the TV.

Tim didn't look particularly interested either, just too content and lazy to bother changing it. He was leaned back, one arm over the arm of the couch, the other resting on his stomach.

His face was what interested Tony, though. He didn't get that same blank, glass-eyed look most people got when they were stuck on some TV show and not using an ounce of their own brain power.

He looked thoughtful, almost. Like he was forcing himself to think about the dynamics of knocking out a wall and opening up the kitchen to the living room.

Never not using his brain, that was Tim McGee. Never taking anything for granted when there was always some aspect worth considering.

Tony wondered if Tim was one of those guys who got really quiet when he got drunk. Quiet and bleary-eyed and grinning, letting things happen around him.

Everyone's brain needed a shut-down now and then.

He'd have to test out the theory sometime. He grinned, wondering if there was some Golden Girls drinking game he could look up online. They had Saturday scheduled for a marathon, why not add a bottle of vodka to the mix?

His eyes wandered down to Tim's hand, to his thumb moving back and forth absently against his stomach. That was the hand that had fisted Tony's shirt, pushed him back into a wall so Tim could suck his tongue out of his mouth.

Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it was the exciting first-time aspect of it that had gotten Tim all intense and heated. Maybe he only touched Tony like he couldn't tear his hands away because he had never touched Tony before.

An unhappy thought, but not one Tony bought into with any conviction.

He licked dry lips, watching the slow, slight movement of Tim's thumb against his stomach.

Tim had a hundred hobbies and none of them involved going to the gym, so even with so much weight lost Tony could still see the slight bump of softness at his waist.

It was nice. Tony might have been able to lose himself in random thoughts about getting laid, of some hand – any hand – on his dick, some body pushed against him. But Tony dated women who lived in gyms and didn't eat carbs and obsessed over points on some diet program. The soft belly Tim was resting his hand on so innocently? That was all Tim. That was nothing like anonymous, not for Tony.

Tim wasn't a gym rat, but he also wasn't just the next in line to hop into Tony's bed. There wouldn't be sex and then moving on. Besides, Tony hadn't watched his calories for a few years now, and he was far from perfect himself. He was a guy – he didn't give a shit, really. Not if there was someone around who wanted him anyway.

And there was. There was Tim. Solid, warm, soft Tim with that lush mouth and those talented hands, and that _need _in his eyes.

Tony caught his breath, felt heat stirring in his gut. His eyes were locked on that hand, and remembering Tim's heated touch that morning, and he _wanted_.

God, he wanted. It made his heart thump hard in his chest. Heat bloomed through his limbs and his body ached suddenly.

He cleared his throat. "You watching this?"

Tim shrugged, unaware and innocent as he watched the show. "I never got the big deal about painting small rooms in dark colors. When I was a kid my bedroom was tiny, not even a window, and my mom let me pick a color for the walls one year. It was awesome, this really dark brown. It was like a cave in there."

Tony cleared his throat again. Louder. "So. You watching this?"

Tim glanced over, mouth still quirked in memory. "You can change it if..."

Tony met his eyes.

Tim's hand slipped from his stomach. He sat up. "Oh."

Yeah. Oh.

Tony reached out and plucked the remote from Tim's lap. He hit the power button and dropped it on the floor.

Tim grinned, eyes now glued to Tony. "Has it been an hour yet?"

Tony got up on his knees, crawling over to Tim. "I won't let you drown, don't worry."

Tim twisted, hiking a leg up onto the couch and slipping down, a little awkward but just right to grab Tony's shirt and haul him on top of him.

He tasted like pizza. Tony growled against his mouth, bracing himself on one hand, reaching between them and slipping his other hand under Tim's shirt.

He stroked his fingers over that little swell of softness at Tim's waist, and the heat in his gut bubbled up like lava in a volcano bed. He decided right then that it was going to be in the Top Five List of Favorite Body Parts, the Tim McGee edition.

Also on that list were the two firm, warm hands that slipped to Tony's waistband and under his shirt, dragging up the line of his spine.

And his mouth, Jesus. That quick, playful, just right tongue and the swollen bottom lip that just cried out to be sucked on.

Tony let himself relax, let his weight drape over Tim. Didn't seem to bother Tim in the slightest, except from the way his hands gripped Tony's back and crushed him in closer it didn't seem to be enough.

He pushed his leg between Tim's, and if he hadn't been busy suffocating himself because the kiss just refused to be broken he would have grinned at the unmistakable push of an erection against his thigh.

His own erection dragged against Tim's hip, ringing a groan from him that finally broke apart their heated kiss and left them both panting. Tony arched; his hips angled and _rolled_ in a thoughtlessly wanton move he hadn't realized he was capable of.

Tim gasped, his head falling back against the arm of the couch. His hands dug in to Tony's back, blunt fingernails biting into his skin. He drove up against him, meeting the next roll of his hips, driving them together.

Tony shut his eyes, wanting to memorize the sound of those gasps, the feel of Tim's fingernails biting into the skin of his back. The insistent press of Tim's cock, which definitely topped the Top Five list for favorite body parts.

Or maybe it was his eyes that topped the list. At least his eyes when Tony pulled up and looked down at him. The darkness of dilated pupils, the swirl of light green around that dark. The things that filled those eyes, want and pleasure and...emotion, always there under everything else.

Those eyes made Tony whimper. "Tim..._fuck_, I want..."

He didn't have to say anymore. He saw the moment the snap came, the moment Tim went from dazed pleasured want to intent, driven _need._

Tim's nails bit into Tony's back as he dragged his grip down to Tony's waist and _pushed_, sending Tony to the other side of the couch, flat on his back.

Tony only had time to grab the cushion at his side as Tim came at him with those dark eyes blazing.

Not thinking. Tony saw that the moment before he was caught up in a devouring, starving kind of kiss. Tim's brain wasn't at work. Forget getting him drunk, _this _was when his brain shut down. Maybe that was where the intensity came from – if he wasn't consciously thinking than he really was going on pure instinct.

Tony was all about instinct. God, yes, instinct was good.

He arched up into Tim, meeting the devouring kiss with equal energy, equal need. He was losing his own ability to think, losing himself in the ache in his cock and the heat all over his body. His skin seemed to jolt, to spark, wherever Tim's hands landed. His mouth refused to concede the kiss for anything as insignificant as air.

He wanted everything. Wanted Tim's hands everywhere, wanted Tim's mouth, wanted the slide of Tim's cock against his. It was all he could focus on, all he was aware of.

Tim's mouth tore away from his suddenly, with a sound like a hiss. He drove his cock into Tony's, making them both groan. Fucking boxers were in the way. Too many layers, too much space.

Tony felt naked only in the places Tim's body wasn't pushed into his.

His head fell back, his body arching. Tim's mouth clamped down on his exposed throat, mouthing and nipping like a vampire trying to find the most tender spot to sink in. Tony pushed up, arched, ground himself blindly upwards. Anything to find some kind of rhythm, some kind of steady thrust that would send him over the edge.

"Tony." Tim's voice choked, muffled against Tony's neck.

"Tim." Tony hardly recognized his own voice, sharp and brittle and pleading. "More. Fuck."

"Yeah." Tim's hand smoothed down the line of Tony's body, following the angle of hipbone until his palm fit, heavy and firm, around Tony's clothed erection.

Tony whimpered, pushed, drove himself into that touch. His cock throbbed, and he had never heard the kind of noises that were spilling from his mouth.

Tim's hand vanished, and Tony sobbed out a broken breath. But that same hand pushed up between them, stretched out to Tony.

"Lick," Tim said, more a grunt than a word.

Tony's mind snapped, going blank and burning white at the edges as he grabbed Tim's wrist and obediently kissed, licked, practically _worshipped_ his palm. His eyes shut and for a few moments there he felt positively blissful. Tim's reaction, the chokes of breath that belied the firmness of that last command, only added to the feeling.

When Tim was satisfied he drew his hand back, and Tony dropped back against the couch and waited, aching for what was coming.

Tim didn't make him wait long. His wet hand slipped inside Tony's boxers and grasped his cock, stroking slow and hard up the length of him.

Tony's vision exploded into white. He cried out, grasping for a fistful of cushions just to ground him in some way. Pleasure wracked his body, sizzling and intense and _fuck_.

He knew he wasn't going to last long. His body was utterly fucking powerless, there was no way he could manage enough control to stall the orgasm that was rushing at him.

Tim's cock was driving into his thigh, and Tony managed just enough coherent thought to see the injustice of that. He licked a quick, wet trail over his own hand and shoved it between their bodies, blindly groping for the prize.

He found it through a rough fumble to get past the flaps in the front of Tim's boxers. He was too far gone to manage much skill or tricks, but from the sounds that escaped Tim's mouth even his rough touch was good.

Tim's grip tightened, his strokes losing their rhythm, getting faster.

Tony released the mangled cushion to clutch Tim's shirt instead. He pulled Tim down, desperate, and only realized how much he needed Tim's mouth on his once it was there. Their kisses were sloppy, open-mouthed and graceless. Perfect.

And fuck, Tim knew how to pump Tony. Like he'd been doing it for years. Like he was in Tony's body, feeling it along with Tony. And way before he was ready, Tony felt his body seize, felt the white shock blanking out his fragmented mind.

He drove up into Tim's hand, release coming in long, jarring spurts that seemed to last and last and fucking _last_.

Tim let him go at the perfect moment, seconds before his cock went sensitive and the touch would have hurt.

Tony was halfway to passed out, but as he gasped for air and felt the lethargic heat shutting him down bit by bit, he forced his hand to move, to stroke Tim, fast and firm and graceless.

"God, Tony." Tim buried his face in Tony's neck, kissing and murmuring, until he tensed and his hips jerked once and again. He murmured Tony's name, over and over, into his neck, as he pulsed into Tony's hand.

Tony had a few half-complete, scattered little flashes of thoughts. Like, he had to remember to hold Tim back enough that Tony could get in a few of his own tricks next time. And...no, that hadn't been a fluke, earlier that morning.

And God, he hadn't felt so overwhelmed in years, if ever. He'd been horny and wanting and hungry for a touch many times before, but he hadn't ever needed one person's hands on him the way he'd needed Tim, like it was as critical as drawing breath.

He passed out, hard, before he could think much more than that.


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

Tony felt fingers on his face before his mind had a chance to wake up all the way. Soft touch, warm hand, and he felt himself smiling. He reached out without even opening his eyes, finding the smooth, hairless skin of Tim's chest and slipping his hand up and down the line of his side.

He made a wordless noise, low and content, that he figured would pass for this session's version of 'good morning'. Or evening. Or night. It had to be night by now, didn't it?

It made him warm to think that it was just that morning he'd found the courage to kiss Tim.

The pads of Tim's fingers traced the line of his smile, and then the backs of his fingers smoothed up Tony's cheek. Then up to Tony's hairline, and through his hair. Always gentle, always random.

Tony, who was the cockiest guy in the world about his own appeal, felt unusually self-conscious. He kept his eyes shut even though it added to the feeling, and he wondered what it was Tim saw right then. He wondered what Tim, who knew most of his secrets and all of his faults, thought about Tony's pretty-if-admittedly-no-longer-entirely-young face.

Just as he was working up the energy to move, or speak, or open his eyes or something, Tim spoke.

"They..." Tim's voice was so low it was barely a murmur. "They pulled the car over to the side of the road, and forced me to get out."

Tony's eyes snapped open.

Tim lay there, considering Tony, watching his own fingers trace through Tony's hair. He didn't meet Tony's eyes.

"Colin went around and popped the hood. Said we had to look like we needed help if we wanted someone to stop." Tim was pale. Maybe more pale than usual, but the lights were dimming and the sun was setting outside, and it was hard to tell.

Tony brushed his fingers up and down Tim's side, slow and soothing. He opened his mouth but shut it again when he realized he couldn't think of a single thing to say. He had no idea if he wanted to encourage Tim to talk about these things he'd kept to himself all this time, or if he wanted to preserve the happiness of the day.

He decided pretty quick, though, that if he wanted this to last more than that day he had to make sure he could step up for the serious things.

"They took me around to the front of the car, I guess so we could all stand around staring at it if someone drove by. Clancy...pushed me in all the sudden, over the front of the car. He put the gun..." Tim took his hand from Tony's hair to reach back, absently touch a spot at the back of his own neck. "Pushed it hard into my neck."

Tony swallowed. He reached out, nudging Tim's hand out of the way and smoothing his fingers over the spot he'd been touching.

Tim sighed. He sank back into the pillow, eyes downward instead of looking at Tony. "Clancy practically..." His throat worked. "Practically laid on top of me. Said something about giving me a little preview of what I was in for."

He laughed, soft and humorless. "And for a minute, you know, I actually thought he was just going to hit me or something. Push me in until I burned my face on some overheated part of the car engine. But then the gun left my neck, and he grabbed me. My...crotch. You know..." He humphed out a breath. "It's impossible to talk about this out loud. I don't want to put words to it, you know?"

"I don't really want to hear whatever words you settle on," Tony said, quiet. He wished Tim would meet his eyes, but God knew he understood the need to maintain some kind of distance. "But we've got to get through it. Don't we?"

Tim nodded, eyes shutting as if falling back to sleep, or else faking it badly. But he cleared his throat. "After all this build-up I feel kind of dumb, really. Like I should be talking about something really...traumatic. We see people go through worse than this almost every week."

"Stop trying to quantify it, Tim. Tell me before we both lose momentum."

"Yeah. Okay." Tim sighed, bringing his hand up between them to rub at his face. His eyes stayed closed.

Tony took hold of his hand as he lowered it, slipped his fingers between Tim's and squeezed hard.

"So. He grabbed me. Clancy. Hard. Shoved himself up against me, hard as a rock. And man...when it clicked in my head what he was doing, when he _meant_, I...I tried, anyway, I pushed myself up to knock him off. But Conor was right there at the side of the car, and he grabbed my arm and shoved me back down. Laughing, like it was funny."

Tim's eyes opened, but didn't focus on Tony. "When I told you I was terrified that night, it wasn't because I thought they were going to kill me. It's because I knew what they really were going to do." He let out a breath. "When I told you I made some kind of peace with the idea that I was going to die, it was because it was a better alternative. I mean...I know, people survive it all the time. Women and men, every fucking day..."

Tony pulled their joined hands up as Tim's voice rose. He brought Tim's knuckles up to his lips, kissing gently. God knew why – he wasn't driven to instinctively romantic gestures, but his body was acting before his brain could weigh those actions.

He had to get that horrible, self-loathing sound out of Tim's voice, but he didn't know how. So he held Tim's hand to his face, brushed his lips over his fingers, and just hoped it would help.

Tim's eyes shut again, fast. His breathing was unsteady. "He got my pants down, grabbed me again. Just kept squeezing, hard. I've got bruises, still..."

Tony was suddenly fiercely glad that they hadn't gotten their boxers off yet. Seeing those bruises would have made the mood dry up and blow away.

"And he was talking in my ear the whole time, about what he was going to do, and...and he was hurting me, squeezing so hard, because he didn't want me to get hard, later. When he was..." He shook his head, drawing in a loud, rasping breath. "He was going to rape me...this is what he was saying...he was going to rape me and I wasn't going to enjoy it for a second."

His eyes opened again. He stared, hard, at the pillow, then his eyes rose slowly, like he was forcing himself. He met Tony's eyes.

Tony looked away almost instantly. His entire body felt hot, coiled up and ready to explode. He wasn't sure if the desire to murder an already dead man showed in his eyes, but if it did he didn't want Tim to see it.

"I thought about you, when he said that. Sounds stupid, but I thought about you and how you're at your most smart-ass in the face of the worst kind of threats. So I said...something dumb, you know, something like that me not enjoying it wasn't going to be a problem, but if he really wanted me to suffer he'd turn me over so I had to look at his ugly face while he was getting his rocks off."

Tony grinned – it flared up on his face like a spark igniting, and then simmered and vanished.

"Just stupid stuff, I know – I'm sure you could have thought of something better." Tim rolled back onto his back suddenly. He didn't pull his hand away, and Tony didn't even think of letting go. "But just saying it felt important. Saying anything. And it pissed him off, bad, but just when he was leaning in to...react, however he would have reacted, that's when the car pulled over and stopped for us."

Tony said a silent prayer of thanks to the old lady dead in Ducky's morgue.

Tim sighed. "And that was it, right then. Conor let me go, Clancy got off me. They went over to talk to the woman in the car, and Colin...He stayed back, with me. Put a hand on my shoulder, grinning, like we were all in this together. He kept his hand on me until the gun came out." He chuckled, low and stiff. "When I pushed his gun out of the way, as he was going to shoot her, I was hoping it would do exactly what it did. I wanted to see Clancy fall."

Tony shifted in close, letting their joined hands rest on Tim's stomach. He pushed his mouth to Tim's shoulder, a quick reminder kiss. Just so he'd know Tony was still around.

"I think Clancy was the only one of them who really got off on the whole rape thing. Conor...he came down a couple of times when I was tied up in that basement." He sighed, another secret out into the air. "The second time was when you stopped him. He'd already...once, that night."

Tony shut his eyes, seeing red. He tried to force himself to relax, but his heart was thumping faster in his chest and he wanted to kill that fucker. He wanted to hunt down some voodoo priest who could bring him back to life, and he wanted to kill him again. Shooting him in the back of the head wasn't good enough. Too fucking quick.

Tim sighed. "Anyway, he did it a couple of times, but he wasn't into it like Clancy was that night. I figure he just wanted to get off. Clancy wanted _rape_. Colin...he didn't even try it. The only time he even said anything about it was when he was talking to Gibbs, and that was just to hear Gibbs' reaction. Well, and then when he called me at the hospital. Just to hear _my _reaction, probably. I don't think it's his thing."

Which was good, maybe, but it wouldn't stop Tony from killing Colin either.

Tim's hand tightened around Tony's suddenly, as if worried he'd try to pull away. "You know the worst thing? I mean...talking about it, it doesn't even sound that bad. Does it? They didn't...you know. Actually go through with the _rape _or anything."

Tony rose up enough to look down at Tim.

Tim glanced at him, but looked away. "Yeah, I know. Stop quantifying. But the worst thing was that I couldn't stop it. When it was Conor down in that basement I couldn't move. I could've fought back and let myself choke, but..." He sighed. "I guess when it came down to it I didn't think death was a better option. But Clancy...that night...he was going for his own pants when she pulled that car up. I heard it. Heard the zipper go down. And he could have done it. I couldn't fight all of them."

"Name me someone who could."

Tim shrugged. "That's a point, but still. I can't escape that feeling. Being helpless, knowing what was coming and just not being able to...to even _run _from it."

"But you weren't helpless, not in the end." Tony rolled onto his stomach, looking at Tim intently. "Remember? You were tied up so well you couldn't even move, you had a gun to your head. And I was there, yeah, but I couldn't move, because he might have fired if I did."

Tim was silent for a moment. He looked up at Tony.

Tony grinned, sharp and wicked and letting his utter hatred of all the Dougherty brothers show through. "You're the one that incapacitated him. You weren't helpless when it counted."

"Yeah. Maybe." Tim swallowed and echoed the grin, a bit feral, a bit sad. "When you shot him, I thought...'good'. You know? He was screaming and puking and crying in pain, and that's the last thing he felt before he died. I was glad."

"Amen." Tony studied him for a moment. "You think I should feel bad for killing him? One bullet, back of the head, when he was already on the ground and his gun was dropped and he wasn't a threat to anyone?"

Tim snorted. "If NCIS issued citations for killing bastards, I would have nominated you." He hesitated at that, studying Tony. "_Should_ I feel bad for that? Should you?"

"I could care less." Tony squeezed his hand. "I'm not completely immoral, despite rumors to the contrary. But I feel the opposite of bad for killing him, and that's not going to change. Not ever."

"Yeah."

Silence fell then. Tony settled down on the bed, rolling over on his back beside Tim. It made things easier somehow, not looking at each other. But only because they were pressed solid, arm to arm, against each other. They weren't looking at each other, but they were _there._

"I have to tell Gibbs, don't I?"

"No." Tony hesitated, looking up at the ceiling. "But I think you should. It won't change anything, you know."

"I know."

"And...as selfish as this sounds..." Tony stopped, unable to go on in the light of what Tim had just told him.

But Tim was Tim. He knew, and he didn't stay silent because his own pain might be worse than Tony's. "I never should have asked you to keep it secret. It wasn't fair to you."

"You think I don't understand? If it was me...God, I don't know what I would have done. If you had walked in on that..." He reached out, clasped Tim's hand. "I wouldn't have had to ask."

"No. But neither did I. You said something about getting Ziva, but you wouldn't have gone. Not while I was like that."

"No." Tony sighed. It was a good thing, trusting your partner. Knowing that Tim would have had his back, that Tony would have gone in Tim's place. That even if Ziva had come down before Tony had covered up what evidence he could, she would have helped them without a word.

It was a good thing, but sometimes it was a hell of a lot of weight.

Tony slipped his thumb up and down Tim's knuckles, slow and steady. "But it isn't just about the secret. It's about Gibbs, too."

Tim looked over.

Tony rolled back on his side, meeting his gaze. "He knows enough to know there are secrets here. He's seen too much in his life not to know what kind of secrets they are. And...this might be hard for you to believe, but it hurts him. He has his paternal side, when he can indulge it. I'd bet anything that he's got a thousand guesses in his head, each worse than the last."

Tim frowned.

Tony shrugged, awkward. "I've got stories I could tell you. Times I fucked up, or needed help. Times I showed up at his door at three in the morning drunk out of my mind because I couldn't face things sober. And he...he handles that. He handles it well. He doesn't handle not knowing well."

"I'll talk to him." The words were soft, like if he spoke them quietly enough Tony wouldn't hear, or wouldn't hold him to it.

Tony sympathized. It had taken him years to see that side of Gibbs, and Tim wasn't as needy as Tony. Tim wouldn't have even begun thinking of needing Gibbs that way. Maybe it wasn't fair to Gibbs, but if it wasn't he only had himself to blame. He put up that solid Boss wall. He had to.

Tony met Tim's eyes, smiled. "You okay?"

Tim nodded, and didn't seem uncertain about the answer. "That was harder and easier than I thought it would be."

"Good."

"Just promise me something."

"Anything."

Tim swallowed, his eyes clear and green and serious. "Promise me you won't see them on me."

For a moment Tony didn't understand, mostly because the idea that he would see the Doughertys on Tim, like they'd left some kind of imprint that would somehow overshadow Tim himself, was so far removed from Tony it was like Tim spoke in a foreign language.

He reached out, traced an aimless pattern across Tim's pale chest. "If they'd carved their names into you, into scars that wouldn't ever even fucking fade, Tim. I wouldn't even notice them. I'd just see you." He smiled, stroking his hand down to Tim's pale belly.

Tim returned the smile. "Does that mean you're going to let me give you a blow job someday?"

Tony dropped his face against Tim's chest, laughing. "You've met me, right? You really think that's going to be an issue?"

Tim's hand appeared on his head, warm weight curling through his hair. "Good. Because I don't really want to see them on me anymore, either."

Tony's laughter faded. He lifted his head enough to look up at Tim. "You telling me that sucking me off is going to help your recovery?"

Tim shrugged. He stretched his arm back behind his head, toying with Tony's hair absently. "I admit it may not be the healthiest route to recovery, but..." He smiled. "Like I said this morning, I know who I'm with."

Tony groaned. "Tomorrow. Like, first thing. In fact, I want that to be my alarm in the morning."

"Not now?" Tim's voice was too innocent.

Tony laughed, strained, and dropped his head back onto Tim's chest. "No, McHorndog. Not now." He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the pale flesh under him. "I need a little bit of distance, from..."

"Yeah. I probably do too, I'm just being stubborn."

Tony wanted to smile, but he brushed his lips across the soft skin of Tim's chest and his eyes felt suddenly, inexplicably hot.

"It's the worst thing I've ever seen in my life, Tim."

Tim's hand stilled in his hair.

"And I've got a shit-pile of bad things to stack it up against. I just...I wasn't expecting it. Even though we knew about Tibbett, and Colin had made his threats over the phone. I just didn't _expect_..."

"I'm sorry," Tim said quietly.

Tony couldn't look at him. "For what?"

"I wasn't the only one hurt that day, and it's too easy for me to forget that."

"I won't see it, Tim." Tony's voice was odd, shaky. "I promise, when I look at you I won't see them. But I won't ever forget it."

He kissed Tim again, and again, no real pattern to it. He smoothed his hand up Tim's side, feeling the solid warmth of him and thinking...

He almost lost this. Before he ever even had it, it was almost taken away from him. He almost never saw the _intense _for himself. He almost never learned that his Probie was this hungry, sensual _thing _when he hit a certain point.

He might have gone the rest of his life never feeling craved the way Tim craved him. Without ever craving right back, the way he had on that sofa earlier.

He almost lost Tim. And God, as clueless as he was just two days ago he would have avenged him, mourned him, and gone on dating good-looking women with nothing to offer him away from the bedroom. And he would have thought he was happy.

Stupid bastard.

Tony didn't know what this was yet. It was brand new, despite him feeling like he'd been married to Tim for the last five years. It was new and there was still all this emotion surrounding it that skewed everything, made it feel deeper and bigger and harder than it was.

Which was kind of funny, really. With Jeanne – the only real prior experience he had with an actual adult relationship - they had started with the mundane day-to-day real life stuff. Then the bigger things had come along and killed them.

With Tim they were mired in the big stuff, slogging their way through the disasters. The question would be in whether the day-to-day mundane life would kill them or make them stronger.

He laughed to himself, quiet and still a bit shaky with the ghost of how things might have gone hanging over him.

"More laughter? You're lucky I'm not the sensitive type."

That just made Tony laugh harder. "Since when?" He stilled, though, and gave Tim's chest a farewell kiss before he lay his head down, listening to Tim's heart beating in his ear. "We're going to catch him tomorrow. This'll be over. Finally."

"Yeah."

"So what then?"

There was silence. It stretched out, second by second, until Tony realized he was holding his breath and ordered his lungs to do their jobs.

The first case they ever worked together involved a Marine found dead in a vat of acid. Not a nice case, and Tony's first impression of scared rookie McGee wasn't the most generous ever. But Tim had always been brave, and strong, and if it was in a different way than Tony was used to it was just as legit as cop bravery.

He was brave about Abby. Brave about coming down to the Navy Yard despite Tony all but laughing him away. Brave enough to either get a tattoo in order to impress a girl, or to lie right to Tony's face about getting a tattoo in order to shut him up.

Tim had the kind of bravery that let him be himself despite taking abuse for just that. He knew what Tony and Ziva would say, but he went ahead and talked about meeting a girl through the internet or dressing like a blue-eared elf on Halloween.

"Well..."

And he was brave enough to answer Tony, there in that bed with the silence making everything feel so important.

"I've never seen your apartment, so I can't say for sure. But I have way too much stuff and no room to spare. Which means we either need a bigger place, or we keep both of ours for now. I'll go ahead and assume you've got some bachelor pad that costs more than its worth, and they probably don't take dogs. Which means that we're staying at my place, because I'm not leaving Jethro by himself."

Tony wasn't sure how to feel. He was relieved, really, that Tim seemed ready to call the shots. He was glad that those shots involved the two of them staying the Two of Them. He was happy, but somehow the happiness made his eyes burn and his words dry up in his throat.

Tim went on after a moment, still steady despite Tony's lack of response. "We'll have to talk out how to handle things at work – Rule 12 and all that. I'll indulge you by watching a thousand dusty old movies you say all the lines with, and you'll indulge me by giving me space to write when I need to and not giving me any...well, not giving me a _lot_ of crap about it."

Tony blinked, and was astonished, really, at the little spot of moisture that dripped onto Tim's chest.

Tim spoke less evenly the longer he went on. "We're going to split expenses – I may have book money, but you make Senior Agent pay, so we're probably about even. At Christmas you'll come meet my family and make fun of me for how different they all are from me – I'll end up being your least favorite person there, I bet. Even Abby wanted to dump me for my dad after she met him."

Something seemed to travel across Tony's skin, cold, like someone had opened a window and there was a rush of winter air making him erupt into goosebumps. He swallowed.

Tim kept going, almost shaky by then. "And on weekends, when were not on call, we're going to stay in bed for hours, order pizza, watch some TV, never put on anything more complicated than boxers, and we're going to fuck until we can't move."

He sucked in a breath, unsteady. "We'll fight. Sometimes. You know. You'll get mad because I'm spending _another _night writing instead of curling up on the couch with you, and you think that means more than it does. I'll get mad because you want to get all dressed up in your Armani suits and hang out with your buddies in bars and flirt up women just to make sure you still can. And I won't understand that, entirely, even when I lie and say I do."

He stuttered to a stop, waiting, but Tony couldn't say anything. He felt the chill creeping up his neck, and he hated his cop instincts because when they sprung up sometimes he had no idea what they were warning him about.

"But we're going to be happy, Tony. We're going to laugh all the time and fuck like teenagers and watch each other's backs, and we'll be so fucking happy."

God, it was eating at him, that feeling. He almost looked up, looked around for intruders. Was someone watching them? Was something coming?

Or was it about what Tim was saying? Was there something wrong in it?

"Tony."

He drew himself up suddenly, sitting up and back and looking at the curtained window, at the locked bedroom door. He swallowed, unable to shake the apprehension.

"There's an unwritten movie law," he said slowly, looking back at Tim with stark eyes. "Whenever there's a plan, you know, to rob a bank or something, you can always tell if it'll work or not before it even starts. Because if it's going to work, you never hear it. They start to go over details and then the scene fades out. If you hear it, if you see the scenario as they go over the details, then you know things won't play out that way."

Tim sat up more slowly, shaking his head. "No. Come on. This isn't a movie. Just because I've got the plan all worked out doesn't mean..."

Tony frowned. "I can see it, you know. When you were talking, I could see all of it. Even the part about meeting your family, and God knows I have no real way to know what a happy family Christmas is like."

Tim looked away, head shaking stubbornly. But Tony knew, saw in Tim's face, that he felt it to. That strange nervous fear.

"I could see it in scenes, like those stupid heist movies. I can picture me bitching because your closet isn't big enough and I can't possibly stay at your place without access to all my clothes. I could see watching _The Maltese Falcon _on my couch, with my feet in your lap and popcorn all over the place because we keep throwing it at each other, because you keep trying to critique the film as if anything about it isn't beyond fault. Which it is, by the way. It's way beyond your petty criticisms."

Tim smiled, hollow. "I like Sam Spade."

"Good."

"No. Tony, listen – I like Sam Spade, so whatever you can see...it's close, but it's not completely right. There's still some twists you won't see coming. Which means we're not like one of those stupid over-plotted heist movies."

Tony fell silent, considering that. This apprehension, maybe it was just for the next day, the job. The train station and Colin Dougherty. Maybe he was just scared because this wasn't over yet, and it didn't feel right to relax until Dougherty was gone.

Besides, try as he might in his most smitten moments, he had never really been able to picture himself marrying Jeanne, settling in for the life he had mourned the loss of when she was gone. Which, using heist movie logic, meant he should have been wearing the ring by now, maybe with a kid on the way.

So maybe Tim was right. Maybe everything he said, from Rule 12 to the lazy, oversexed weekends...all of it was actually possible.

Maybe his instincts were failing him after so many years.

He relaxed bit by bit, smiling suddenly as he reflected on the flat-out emotional mess this whole last hour had been. They were just overwrought, that was all. There were too many emotions, too much repressed fury and helplessness and fear.

They were going to be fine.

He reached out and nudged Tim's arm. "You know what I think?"

Tim didn't answer, and Tony never said.

Because the moment the word 'think' was out of his mouth, the air in the room around them seemed to split open. Into the high, klaxon squealing of an old hotel's ancient alarm system.


	17. Chapter 17

"I don't know!" Tony had to shout over the shrill alarm, had to clamp his cell against his ear to hear Gibbs. "Tim's calling downstairs on the landline, but there are people leaving the building, standing around on the street."

"... an't be...incidence..."

Tony cursed and clamped the phone harder against his ear. "Coincidence? No, I don't think so."

"...ten minut...ee out of your sight, Di..."

"You got it." Tony shut the phone and slipped it into his pocket, looking down out the dingy window for one last moment before he turned and grabbed his jeans from the floor.

"Tim?"

Tim appeared in the doorway a moment later, still in his boxers, his MIT shirt back on, his jeans slung over his shoulder. "Talked to one of Fornell's men downstairs. They don't know how it happened, but the lobby's full of smoke and some of the guests have reported flames. This isn't a false alarm."

"Damn it." Tony spotted his shirt as Tim slipped into his jeans. "Gibbs is on his way. Ten minutes."

Tim looked around for his shoes. "It's him. Dougherty. I know. Gibbs doesn't believe in coincidence, and right now I don't either."

Tony put his shirt on inside out and decided not to care. "Yeah." He approached Tim, adrenaline making them both a bit wild-eyed.

Five minutes ago they were in bed, drained from raw emotion and a day that had been far more sex-filled than even Tony was used to. Five minutes ago Tony was happy, really fucking happy, despite this creeping, inevitable paranoia he couldn't pin it to a source. Five minutes ago they were Tony and Tim, two guys doing the morning-after talk at seven in the evening, trying to figure out where they stood.

That, Tony thought to himself unhappily, was enough tension for two guys to deal with. They didn't need a stalking murderer on top of it.

The constant blare of the alarm overhead didn't help.

"We could stay up here?" Tony made the suggestion knowing neither would ever really consider it. "If it's just some distraction it won't reach this floor."

Sure enough, Tim shook his head. "Forget it. If it's a distraction to get us out that means he's down there somewhere."

Tony grabbed his abandoned wallet from the floor and turned to Tim, eyebrows raised. "...and that's a reason to go down?"

"Yes." Tim turned and walked out of the room.

Apprehension dug at Tony. He followed Tim out, watched him recover his shoes from the second bedroom and move into the living room to put them on.

Tony spotted his own sneakers by the door. He moved past Tim to get them, but hesitated and turned back to him. Tim looked up from the couch, one shoe on. His hands faltered, and his throat worked.

Tony met his eyes. "You stick close."

"You too," Tim countered, shoving the other shoe on and standing up. "You're second on his list now, thanks to your big mouth."

Tony grinned, but it was too big and too false and it didn't last.

Tim's dominating confidence seemed to be restricted to the bedroom – it seemed to come out only when it was thoroughly coaxed. Tony liked that, as long as he was there to do the coaxing. He liked that it was a part of Tim McGee that few people saw.

But now that he had seen it it was harder to look at Tim like he was at that moment, with fear back in his eyes and uncertainty moving him towards Tony as if he thought he'd be pushed away.

"I can't...this..."

Tony shook his head, meeting him halfway and taking firm hold of Tim's arms. "You know those movies where a couple of people get together way too fast and share some ridiculous undying love for about ten hours and it changes their entire lives even though they usually never see each other again?"

Tim swallowed but didn't answer.

Tony met his eyes, fierce and sure. "We're not in one of those movies, Tim."

Tim studied him as if memorizing, as if drawing something out of Tony's face and holding it inside himself.

Tony waited, his gaze not wavering. He was a needy guy who apparently got totally off on being pushed against walls and dominated. But he wasn't a weak man for all that, and he could lend some of his outside-the-bedroom strength to Tim now.

"Yeah." After another moment Tim nodded and straightened, pushing his shoulders back. "Fuck him. Let's go."

"Atta boy." Tony released his arms and looked around for the shoes he'd forgotten about. By the door, right.

He was just straightening from giving the laces of the second shoe a quick and dirty tie when Tim joined him at the door.

It wasn't until Tim was reaching for the knob with a visibly trembling hand that Tony realized the entire time they'd been together that day, he hadn't seen that damaged hand shaking once. Maybe it was stress making it worse now. Or maybe it was psychological, maybe Tim had pushed it aside while he had better things to think about.

Either way, it struck something in him.

"Wait." He spoke up suddenly just as Tim's hand brushed the knob. He moved in fast, grabbing Tim's shirt and pushing him back against the door.

It was a graceless kiss, clumsy and rushed and wet, but when Tony pulled back he felt more in control.

And when Tim nodded at him it was without the shakiness of fear.

Tony let go of Tim's wrinkled, abused shirt and stepped back, calm and ready. "_Now _let's go."

* * *

Tony told himself he wasn't letting Tim out of his sight for an instant. He told himself, firm and commanding, that Tim was the only guy who mattered until Dougherty was caught.

But Tony was a federal agent, just like Tim, and an unfortunate side effect of that was that when they were in a dangerous situation surrounded by at-risk civilians, they were the least important people in sight.

They had obligations. No Marines were being threatened, maybe, but they got down below the fifth floor and the smoke became detectable in the stairwell, and it was suddenly painfully obvious that they had a job to do. There were shouts, footsteps, sobbing, all coming from an increasingly loud crowd of people. The general panic of being in a group of strangers when a real emergency hits. Whatever Dougherty set for a diversion was obviously dangerous in itself – the smoke was real, the danger in the enclosed stairwell was real.

Tony pounded down the narrow stairs, pushing Tim ahead of him so he would always be in sight. He knew – _knew –_ that this was a diversion. A trick. A way to empty the building and get Tim.

But it was also a panicked group of people who could fall, push, trample, suffocate, have heart attacks.

So when they caught up to the back of the crowd that was trying to push through the narrow stairs and down to the lobby, Tony's determined focus had to split about a dozen different ways. As they moved through the crowd and got folded inside of it, things got even more fractured.

When a pair of hands grabbed Tim it was just an older woman who was being pushed from behind grabbing at something to stay balanced. Tim held her arm until she was more steady, and Tony gave a Gibbs-worthy _thwack _to the back of the guy's head who had tried to mow through her on his way down.

When a man slammed into Tony it was just an innocent jerkoff who was trying to get down faster. There were bodies jostling everywhere, people shouting to stay together, children screaming.

When panicked voices started rising from below, when fear spread as thick as the smoke up from the first floor, it was because the smoke itself was thicker and people were running blind trying to make it down the last flight.

"What the hell is--"

"They're blocking the door! Somebody's blocking the door at the bottom to keep us trapped!"

Tony recognized the rush of rumors that would start a crisis and spoke loud to calm at least whoever could hear him. "Nobody's blocking the door. Everybody just calm down."

"How the hell do you know?"

Tim answered, looking back to exchange grim looks with Tony. "We're staying near the top floor, we saw the cops coming in before we came down. It's gonna be fine, just settle down."

But the smoke was coming up thicker, and the shouts from below were that much louder, and when the first people started coughing the fear in the air went that much more jagged.

"Please--"

Tony pushed off the hand that grabbed him, but when he looked it was an old woman, sagged against the wall as people pushed and slid past her.

Fuck. She was tiny, thin, still wearing a damned nightgown.

Tony pushed against the wall to keep anyone else from running into her. "Okay, come on. We'll get you down, it's okay."

Thin as she was, fear made the grip she had on his arm hurt. She nodded, quick and scared, holding his arm tightly as he started them down.

Tony made sure she was okay the first couple of steps, then looked around for Tim. He spotted him fast, about a half a flight further down holding on to a blonde curly-haired little brat whose sobbing blonde curly-haired mother was clutching Tim's arm.

Tim looked back a few seconds later and for a quick, jostled moment they locked eyes. Tony grinned, supporting his little old lady. Tim hefted the kid on his shoulder, and echoed the wry grin.

They were cops – Federal instead of local, and Navy instead of civilian, but at the heart of the job they wore the badges and protected the people. Tony might have wanted to skip out on the responsibility, but he wouldn't. Neither of them would.

The smoke was getting thicker, the air started to sting. But the crowd moved inexorably downward, and luckily the panic about the door being blocked had vanished. Tony watched Tim's head as he got further ahead, but the old lady just couldn't be rushed.

His nerves were crackling, and the badge in his wallet weighed heavy on him as he lost sight of Tim around the corner towards the last flight of stairs. Only the thin, wrinkled fingers digging into his arm and people pushed and surged around them kept Tony grounded.

And then...

"Mom?"

It was the greatest sound he'd heard all night.

"Mom! Oh, thank God!" A man in his fifties, thin and short like the woman Tony had been shielding from the crowd, made it up the stairs and grasped the lady's other arm. His eyes went to Tony, shining behind smudged glasses. "We got separated in the crowd, and I--"

Tony pried the lady's fingers out of his arm. "Just take her!" he burst out a little too sharply.

The moment he was free from his slow-moving responsibility he tore down the stairs, pushing a couple of people but they were close enough to the door outside that he didn't feel bad. Besides, for all the smoke there wasn't fire, not that he could see, and he hadn't passed a single person trampled or suffocated.

Job well done there. Now he had a partner to see to.

Tim must have reached the door with the mom and kid he was helping. Tony knew his partner, he knew Tim wouldn't have gone far beyond once he knew they were safe.

But when he pushed through the door, guided by the firm instruction of black-suited feds – the team who had been staked out in the lobby, Tony figured – the sandy hair and wrinkled MIT t-shirt were nowhere to be seen. The lobby was crowded by the stairwell group, all pushing to the door and out onto the street under calm FBI instruction.

"Tim?" Tony looked around, not following the group, wondering if Tim had gone to one of the agents to wait for Tony. He raised his voice, but it still didn't carry far over the noises of the crowd. "McGee?"

The lobby wasn't big enough to lose track of his 6'1 partner, and Tony knew Tim wouldn't have gone into hiding in the back office or anything. Not with Tony right behind him.

His stomach was starting to curl. He moved to the door, pushing out into the shock of cold night air.

"Tim?" He looked around the tops of heads, but it was just as chaotic outside as it was inside. There weren't enough Feds to keep people back, and there weren't enough firemen there yet to reel in the crowd. People were milling everywhere, crying and talking and looking for each other.

Tony spotted the guy and his frail old mother coming out the door. He spotted the guy he'd had to head slap for pushing some girl out of his way.

Nothing. No Tim, no MIT.

No. Tony didn't accept that. There was a stairwell going down, a lobby crowded with Feds, and now this street. Tim hadn't been that far ahead. He didn't have time to fucking vanish.

"Tony?"

He heard the call and twisted his head towards it, relief flaring.

Relief died a fast death. It was Gibbs calling, Gibbs moving through the crowd with Ziva in tow.

Tony didn't wait, he started searching the crowd again with ice crystallizing in his gut.

"Tony. Where the hell--"

"I don't know." Without looking back Tony brushed off the hand that reached for him. He spotted something through the edge of the crowd and headed over, fast.

Jethro was losing his shit, barking and growling and yanking at a leash clutched two-handed by a desperate-looking agent.

Tony charged up, seeing no relieved green eyes in the group of feddies. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

The dark-suited agent holding Jethro's leash glared at him. "Back up, sir, this is a Federal--"

Tony pulled his wallet out of his jeans and threw it at the guy. "NCIS, asshole. The dog is here to hunt a suspect, why the fuck are you restraining him?"

The guy caught his wallet but dropped it to grasp at the leash again as Jethro yanked. "You have any idea what a dog in this state could do in the middle of a crowd of scared people?"

Tony looked behind him, frowning at the fear and tears and tension in the crowd behind.

As he looked he spotted something that made his blood go cold. He forgot Jethro, forgot Gibbs, and made a beeline through the crowd to where a cop was dealing with a hysterical woman. A hysterical blonde curly-haired woman.

"--go find my baby!"

Tony was already sick as he approached. Hearing just those few words made him want to puke. He grabbed the woman by the arm, turning her away from the cop.

"The guy who was carrying your daughter. Where is he?"

"I don't know!" The woman was already in tears, already shaking. "That man said he was going t-to...to _shoot _her! He had a gun in his hand, and--"

"Who? Where?" Tony looked around instantly, looked at the cars parked up and down the street, the dark shadows from broken street lamps. All the ways to escape.

No. No, this was not going to fucking happen.

He turned back to her, clutching too hard at her arm. "What did the man look like?"

She shook her head, trying to tug out of his grasp. "Which man--"

"_The man with the gun!"_ Tony couldn't even fucking breathe and this woman was asking stupid questions and Tim wasn't fucking there.

"DiNozzo!"

He didn't turn. "What did he look like?"

"He...I don't know! He was..."

Tony pushed back against a hand that was trying to pull him away from her. "Look, lady, if you want your kid back you'd better remember fast. Did he have red hair?"

She had paled, panic and fear making her sag. But she shook her head. "No. Brown."

Tony almost let her go in his surprise. God, maybe it wasn't even Dougherty. Maybe one of the Feds had...

"But he looked like a redhead," she said, weak and quiet with the shock catching up to her.

He looked back at her instantly. "What does that mean?"

"I mean. Freckles, and really pale, and his eyebrows were red." She erupted into fresh sobs, no longer fighting his grip. "He said he would shoot Amy if that other man didn't go with him!"

Tony let her go.

He looked around, looking right past Gibbs and Ziva and the LEOs trying to put some kind of crowd control in place.

He looked past the edges of the crowd at the dark streets beyond.

A dozen federal agents around, cameras and rigged elevators and a dozen failsafe ways to keep people safe. And Colin Dougherty – thanks to some hurried dye job covering up his most obvious feature - had strolled on in and set a fire.

"Please..." He heard himself whispering, wondering who he was talking to. "Please. Tim, come on, man." There was Jethro still losing his shit with the feds. There was Gibbs exchanging words with the blonde mother, and Ziva looking back at Tony with grim eyes.

He didn't stop on any of it, didn't focus for more than the moment his eyes found them. Because none of them were what he was looking for.

God. Jesus, shit. He wasn't ready for this. This...this wasn't fucking fair. They'd been separated for two minutes, three maybe. That wasn't enough time. There had to be some kind of mix-up.

He moved on stumbling feet, not sure where he was going until the moment he hit his knees on the pavement in front of Jethro.

The dog was growling, yanking at his leash, but when Tony sank down he stilled, nose working the air.

Tony realized with a sharp, deep wrench that Jethro could smell Tim on Tony. God, of course he could after the day they'd had.

He held out his arm, letting Jethro sniff all he wanted. He spoke to the dog, faint but intent. "You find him, boy. I don't give a shit about the bad guy. You find Tim."

God only knew what Jethro understood out of all that, but when Tony straightened Jethro pulled at his leash, no longer growling but just as anxious to tear off.

The Fed holding the leash scowled at Tony. "Look, I don't care if you're NCIS, you need to get back with the rest of the crowd and--"

Tony nodded once as if he understood. Then he reared back and threw his fist in the guy's face.

Not hard. Not as hard as he could have punched, anyway. But hard enough that the guy stumbled back, and the leash slipped from his hands.

Jethro tore away, into the crowd and towards the hotel.

"DiNozzo!"

"No." Tony ignored Gibbs, ignored the Fed bleeding from the nose or the one next to him who looked to be drawing his weapon. He took off after Jethro.

Jethro was a big dog who could be scary as hell, but there were no screams of panic or bloody, gnawed limbs in his wake. Just the same stunned crowd. Jethro was well trained, and he hadn't lost his training during his retirement, it seemed.

If the dog brought him to Tim, Tony was going to damn well add his name below Abby's on the roster of the mutt's fan club.

He caught up to Jethro on the edge of the crowd near the hotel doors,. Jethro was sniffing the air, sniffing the ground. Moving a few steps in one direction and then following some aimless trail in another.

Lost scent. Tony had been on enough crime scenes with enough police dogs to know that wandering trail and what it meant.

Jethro moved suddenly towards the front doors of the hotel, darting past the legs of cops who were starting to drive back the crowd as the firemen slipped in and out the doors.

Tony didn't have his badge – he'd thrown it at a Fed, he seemed to recall – but he called out something about getting his dog and the cops were too busy with the growing crowd to stop him. He stooped to grab Jethro's leash as it dragged on the gravel after the dog.

"No, mutt. We know they were inside, we need to know where they went when they left."

Jethro's nose worked. He looked back at Tony and towards the hotel. He pulled them a few more steps towards the doors.

"Tony!"

Tony glanced back this time, only because Jethro seemed indecisive about where to go. "Look, boss, I don't--"

"You getting yourself arrested is not going to find McGee any faster," Gibbs growled, pushing in close and holding Tony's eyes. But only for a moment, and then he broke off the stare to look around.

Tony knew then that he wasn't in real trouble. He knew Gibbs understood every move he'd made.

He tugged at the leash as Jethro tried to go closer to the hotel. "Damn it, dog. Follow the trail leading away, not leading towards."

"There is no trail leading away."

Tony and Gibbs both swung around as Ziva jogged up.

"What?"

She gestured back towards the cops, towards the blonde mother. "They were inside the building, in a stairwell, when the man with the gun came up to them. Our people across the street swear they never saw McGee come out."

Tony looked back at the hotel, ten stories tall and filling with smoke and firemen. And empty aside from that.

"They're still inside."

He let go of Jethro's leash, panic and determination doing a fierce, silent battle for control of him.

Determination won. His gun was in his hand a moment later, and when he moved towards the doors he felt the presence of Gibbs and Ziva flanking him on either side.

Colin Dougherty had Tim somewhere inside that hotel. Stupid ginger bastard had no idea what he was in for.


	18. Chapter 18

_Author's Note: My bad, guys. Sorry. _

* * *

Determination was a powerful weapon. Tony had seen more than a few battles where the weaker side had won simply because they were more determined to win.

But determination had its limits, and as determined as Tony was to march into that smoky hotel and track down Colin Dougherty without breaking stride...Well. It was still a ten story hotel with dozens of rooms.

All possible witnesses were conveniently waiting outside, and Dougherty hadn't been kind enough to leave a trail of bread crumbs to follow.

There were Feebs moving through the lobby, firemen pushing back and forth though the doors to the stairwell and down the first floor corridor. Everyone was serious but no one was grim – hell, to them it was nothing but a false alarm. No real fire, no real danger, no one had gotten trampled in the evac; it was practically a win.

Tony heard someone direct a question towards him, but Gibbs had his badge out and flashing without a pause, so Tony didn't pay any attention.

He had more important things to focus on.

Dougherty wouldn't have gone through the lobby. Too many cops and cameras, too many people. That ruled out the first floor rooms, since to get to that corridor meant walking through the back corner of the lobby.

He had taken Tim from the stairwell, which meant they had to be near the second floor: Tony'd still had Tim in sight before he turned that corner. So if he was still in the hotel, the second floor was Tony's guess.

But suddenly Tony wasn't as sure of that particular 'if' as he had been two minutes ago. Because now with the smoke clearing and no panicked civilians around him, he noticed something right inside the stairwell that he hadn't seen when he first went down.

There was an emergency exit, right around the corner from the bottom landing. Looked like it lead to an alley around back, which would lead to cars and streets and escape.

"Boss." Tony stared at the door for a moment, his heart kicking at his ribs a few solid times.

Gibbs didn't so much as hesitate. He grabbed Jethro's leash from Tony, knowing that if Colin and Tim had left that way the dog was the only one who would be able to detect it. He tugged Jethro past Tony, and when he pushed open that emergency exit, fear or anger or God only knew what made the gesture sharper and louder than Gibbs would normally be.

Tony watched him go and exchanged grim looks with Ziva. Gibbs would see if Jethro picked up a scent, and then he'd stay back and cover the rear exit. That left the entire hotel for Tony and Ziva.

"Second floor," Tony said, nodding up the stairs.

Ziva's brow furrowed just the slightest bit, but she was too good an agent to slow them down by asking Tony how he knew. They moved side by side up the stairs, training and years of experience keeping their steps all but silent. They listened as they went, as they left the hum and murmurs and disturbances of the lobby behind.

Tony pushed open the door from the stairwell into the second floor corridor. Ziva slipped past him, and he shut the door again with a near-silent _click. _

They hesitated.

Tony listened. Hard. Dougherty was a cocky, egotistical asshole. He'd be a talker. He'd want to brag about his brilliance before he made any move to kill.

He drew in a breath and started down the corridor, alert for any sounds. 201, 202. The alarm still blazed overhead, and under it was silence.

206, 208. More silence. Not a damned sound.

Except Tony couldn't silence his thoughts: what if Dougherty was done? What if he'd used his head instead of his ego - did what he set out to do, and got out of there before anyone caught on to where he was?

What if they had already passed Tim, silent and bleeding out on the floor of one of these rooms?

"Come on," he murmured faintly. "Come on, come on. Where the hell are you?"

"Tony."

He looked over at Ziva, not ready to apologize for talking to the empty air.

But she wasn't even looking at him. She was standing straight, focusing. "Tony..."

"What?" He stood, he focused. He heard the blaring of the same shrill alarm that was starting to make his head throb. Lost under the alarm, almost the same frequency, someone was screaming.

Any scream that shrill, that high, could only be from a child. A little blonde, curly-haired child.

Tony looked around, hardly able to hear it much less tell where it was coming from. But Ziva, whose hunter instincts were better than his, suddenly took off back down the hall towards the door.

He followed, slamming through the door into the stairwell right at her heels.

The little girl was standing at the top of the landing at the third floor entrance. Standing in her pajamas, clenching her fists and screaming at the top of her lungs.

They took the stairs two at a time, reaching her in a flash.

Ziva looked a little too glad to still be holding her gun, so Tony dropped down and grabbed the kid by the shoulders.

"Hey!"

The girl stopped screaming. Her cheeks were red, tracked with tears, but she didn't seem hurt.

"Where did you come from? The guy who was carrying you, where is he?"

She sniffled a loud, wet sniffle and wiped her nose on her arm. "The man told me to run away. He told me to run away and scream until someone found me."

"Where is he?" Jesus, the kid had inherited her mother's gift for not answering his fucking questions.

"In a room. Back there. The number was 13, I saw it when he--"

"Ziva, get her out of here."

Tony was off his feet and through the door before Ziva could tell him where to shove those instructions.

Nothing moved in that hallway. Overhead the alarm kept shrieking – and didn't they have some kind of people-get-the-fucking-point-already cut off switch for that thing? Tony slipped down the hall, staying close to the wall. His hand was so tight around his gun he could feel his pulse in his knuckles.

313.

Tim told the little girl to run away. Tim probably let her loose, and probably pissed Dougherty off doing it. Just one more thing to add to the list.

Bastard. Stupid psychotic _bastard _thought he could threaten an NCIS agent and get away with it? Thought he could just stroll off with Tony DiNozzo's fucking Probie?

He heard, under the alarm, muffled by thin hotel walls, the sound of a voice.

Good, he thought with some satisfaction, seeing the 313 glued to the wall on a door coming up. Asshole was still talking. That meant he wasn't done yet.

That meant Tim was alive.

He moved in, trying to make out words under that fucking alarm.

"--get away without paying for it. Is that it?"

His mouth stretched into a teeth-baring grin. God, he knew it was unhealthy for a cop but he just could not wait for the moment his bullet drove into that shithead's brain.

But as he stopped beside the door, bracing himself for the charge, something about the voice, even muffled and hidden under alarms, pinged at him.

"--really thought things were going to happen that way?"

He frowned, leaning his head back against the wall.

"I mean, come on. I realize you guys never wasted much time thinking ahead, but you had to know this was going to happen."

Tony frowned.

That wasn't Dougherty's voice. That was Tim's.

"I knew you weren't rational, I didn't think you were an idiot."

"Shut the fuck up, dead man."

_That _was Dougherty.

"Why should I? You're gonna_ kill_ me if I don't? I thought you were going to kill me anyway, if you ever shut up long enough to do it."

"You want to die, hero? That it?"

"As opposed to what? Listening to you ramble all day? Sure. Bring it on."

Tony grinned, suddenly fiercely proud though the cop in him knew that Tim was walking a really dangerously thin line with this guy. Tim had been scared of Colin. No one in their right mind wouldn't be. But obviously Tim was done being scared now. He wasn't going to go down scared.

Tony turned to face the door, balancing his weight.

"--met a cop I didn't kill, hero."

Tim's answer was amused, even under the alarm. "What a coincidence. NCIS hasn't met a Dougherty they haven't killed."

"You haven't killed me."

"I could say the same."

Tony grinned to himself. He drew in a breath and stepped in, foot plowing through the wooden door by the knob. Flimsy hotel doors made for impressive entrances: the thing splintered around the lock, flew inward and slammed hard against the back wall with a crack like a gunshot.

Dougherty – and it was a pretty bad dye job, Tony saw – wheeled to face him, gun out, cheeks red and angry.

"Remember me?" Tony asked, his sharp grin still in place.

Dougherty was quick, stumbling back and trying to turn his gun on Tim.

But Tim was quicker, rolling off the hotel bed and onto the floor out of Dougherty's sight.

"Fuck!" Dougherty twisted back around, gun jerking up towards Tony.

Tony regarded him, not losing the grin. His aim was unwavering. "Looks like you're outnumbered, irish. Drop the gun."

"Fuck you!"

"You're gonna have to come back with something better than that, Colin." Tim got to his feet slowly behind the bed. His grin must have echoed Tony's, sharp and adrenaline-fueled. But his eyes were careful, going back and forth between the two men and their aimed weapons. "Tony's a smart ass. You stick with lines like 'fuck you' and a smart ass is always going to out-argue you."

"_Fuck you_." Colin's gun shifted but then jerked back, as if he wanted to aim at Tim again but wasn't willing to turn from Tony. "You're dead, hero. You're both fucking dead."

"That would be an impressive trick," Tony answered, fingers clenching around the barrel of his gun. "Come on, Tim, you're good at math. What are his odds?"

"Hmm." Tim edged to the foot of the bed, and there he hesitated. "Against two NCIS agents, one holding a weapon...and no doubt there are two more either just outside the door or coming up fast. A building full of FBI agents and cops. Oh, and the dog that already took a bite out of him has to be roaming around somewhere nearby."

Tony's eyes flashed over to Tim even as he pitched his voice towards Dougherty. "You remember Jethro, don't you, Colin?"

Tim met his gaze for a quick second. Just long enough that they were both on the same wavelength. They could and would grin their way through this, but with that one look Tony knew they were both fully aware of how quickly this could go bad.

Dougherty glared over at Tim, but his gun didn't shift from Tony.

Tony flashed his eyes back to Dougherty. "So, Tim? What's your giant mathy MIT brain give him for odds?"

"You both need to shut the fuck up." Dougherty's voice was going cool, flat.

Bad sign. Tony's spine straightened, finger laying ready over the trigger.

Tim backed up a step. "In my expert, scientifically-stated, MIT-educated opinion? His odds are shit."

"Watch the technical terms, Tim. We're not all geniuses."

"You killed my brother."

Tony's cop brain sounded an alarm.

Colin wasn't listening to them anymore. He wasn't red-faced, wasn't furious. In his face was a cold, still kind of anger. The kind that would shoot a weapon.

That meant Tony had one goal, now that his goal of Finding Tim had been accomplished. He had to keep that anger aimed at himself.

Tim wasn't getting hurt by this shit again. Not now, not ever. Tony didn't know a hell of a lot, but he knew that. He knew it, even if it meant toying with a psychopath who could very possibly shoot him before he could fire himself.

All he had to do was protect Tim. All he ever fucking had to do was protect him.

He grinned at Colin, cocky and insufferable like only he could be. "Which one of us are you talking to here, irish? Didn't both of us kill a brother of yours?"

Dougherty's eyes came around, landed on Tony. The anger that had him spitting curses was ice cold now.

Tony swallowed. "Actually, now that I think about it, I'm wrong. Tim's the only person in this room who hasn't killed one of your brothers."

"Tony." Tim knew what he was doing. Tony heard it in his voice, in that one word. The sharp, grim fall of Tony's name from his mouth.

But Tony wasn't about to stop. "Yeah, no, that's right, isn't it? Because when Clancy died wasn't it _you _who pulled the trigger, Dougherty?"

The gun in Colin's hand trembled.

Tony grinned, feeling on edge. Feeling dangerous, knowing that one of them was about to fire, and Tim wasn't going to be caught in the middle. "Yeah, it was. But when Conor died..." His smile went crooked. His finger twitched on the trigger. "That was all me."

Dougherty's eyes seemed to snap, somehow. To focus, so sudden and sharp it was like the lens of a camera clicking.

Tony barely caught the motion from the corner of his vision when Tim dove. Not fast enough, not soon enough, Tony could sense that and it made him strangely calm.

He watched like a slow-motion scene in a movie as Dougherty's mouth moved, as his hand shifted and his arm suddenly jumped. Like a twitch up his arm.

Recoil.

The shot was loud and distant all at the same time, and Tony had a moment to wonder how Dougherty managed to punch him in the shoulder without even moving.

Then Dougherty was down, tackled in a whirl of jeans and MIT and furious Probie.

Tony stepped backwards, and stepped again, until his back hit the wall and he slumped. He blinked fuzzy eyes down at the pair of bodies on the floor, at the movement of an arm rising and falling, the blur of flesh colors suddenly mingling with red.

And then he opened his mouth and sucked in a breath, deep and cold, and some of the fuzz cleared. "Tim?"

One more rise and fall of a blurry arm, but then Tony's vision focused on clear green eyes looking back at him.

"--get into these messes? Jesus, Tony--"

He blinked once and he was sitting on the ground somehow, Tim crouched beside him. He blinked again and Tim had a thin pillow pressed up against his chest.

Tony laughed, almost amused by the surreality. Tim was talking, words filtering in and out, but Tony just heard the steady wah-waahh of any given adult in any given Charlie Brown cartoon.

A weird pressure was making his side numb. Pressure that Tim and his stupid pillow weren't helping.

"--more minutes. Come on. Look at this, it's practically a graze. Just a flesh wound." Tim's face was too pale, his voice was too fast. "Don't tell me a movie freak like you can't quote some Monty Python at me. Tell me it's just a flesh wound, Tony."

"Tim." Tony's voice came out pretty clear, and maybe to bolster that affect his vision seemed to focus in on Tim's face. "I got shot."

"I know, I was there." Tim's eyes searched his face. One hand pressed that pillow against Tony's chest, the other one clutched at Tony's arm. Hand. Wrist.

Feeling for his pulse?

"'m not dead. Jesus." Tony grinned, but that made some of the pressure twist into pain. "Getting shot hurts."

Tim's scanning eyes locked on Tony's.

Tony smiled, vague and inane.

Tim slumped a moment later, relief bringing color back to his pasty cheeks. "I scraped my knuckles, you know. That hurts too, Mr. Self-Absorbed."

"Dougherty?"

"He's..." Tim shrugged, more red sweeping over his face.

Tony laughed and groaned and batted at Tim's hand and that stupid painful pillow. "You scraped your knuckles on his face?"

"Shut up and be shot, Tony." Tim's hand tightened around Tony's wrist, thumb brushing over the pulse point gently. "You're gonna be okay."

"Yeah." Tony brought his free hand up and lay his fingers on Tim's arm, the one pushing that cheap, thin pillow up against his wound to slow the bleeding. "'m gonna forget, you know," he mumbled, dropping his head back against the wall and letting his eyes shut for a moment.

"What are you going to forget? Tony? Tony!"

He only opened his eyes because he had really come to hate the sound of panic in Tim's voice. "Gonna forget that you like Sam Spade."

Tim blinked, relief and worry and a hint of annoyance all blazing clear across his face. "What?"

Tony grinned. "Gonna make myself forget. So I can be surprised, when we watch. Maltese Falcon." He shut his eyes again but kept on grinning. "Can't picture it anymore, what it'll be like."

"Yeah?" Tim's fingers slipped from Tony's wrist to his hand, to hook their fingers together, warm. "I can't either. It's like we're fading to black and the next scene's about to start without us ever hearing the plan."

Tony laughed, glad Tim at least remembered that conversation so his blathering wasn't completely insane.

"So are we even now?" Tim squeezed Tony's hand, voice light and eyes terrified. "You faced him down to keep me safe, that makes us even."

Tony mumbled something, lips feeling heavy and numb. Even he didn't understand what the hell he was trying to say.

"Uh huh."

But just as things started getting really nicely hazy and distant, a cold thought made Tony's fading brain focus. Dougherty. The guy behind all of this, the guy who'd been threatening and hurting and keeping Tim in danger.

"'e dead?" he got out, clutching at Tim's arm hard.

"No."

The voice that answered wasn't Tim's.

Tony's eyes tried to push open, but he caught a slit of blurred light and then everything was dark again. In his mind he shouted at himself, yelled to focus, to man up, to last a few more moments.

Tim's hand dropped from him, and the pillow being pushed into his chest fell.

And from a distance came a roar, sudden and loud and then gone. Gunshot. Dougherty.

Tim.

Tony pushed himself, trying to do physically what he couldn't do mentally. Had to stop Dougherty. Had to keep Tim safe.

Instead he sank back, his chest splitting, and everything went black.

* * *

Tony could remember younger, more innocent days when he could wake up in a hospital and feel confused. When he didn't instantly know where he was and what must have happened.

That was years ago, though. Years and bullets and fires and punches and broken bones in the past.

Now he only had to stumble into some kind of consciousness to realize exactly where he was. He knew the smells, knew the way hospital beds felt. Knew the weird loud privacy of a hospital room.

He knew what the distant pain and heavy numbness in his arm meant. Gunshot.

Damn it.

Therapy and pain and annoyance, and his arm in a sling and his ass at a desk.

He groaned, the full weight of the situation hitting him before he could even open his eyes.

"Tony! Hey, he's awake!" Abby, right on cue. Bright and cheerful and anxious underneath, her hands appearing as warm, solid weight on his good arm. "Morning, hero. Open your eyes."

Cue Gibbs:

"Abby. Give him a minute."

Hands vanishing from his arm, check.

And...cue Ziva:

"Give him two minutes. You know how much he loves this sort of attention."

Tony grinned to himself.

Cue Tim:

And....cue Tim:

Any second. Tim. brushing a hand over his shoulder lightly, maybe, saying something with a relieved smile, like 'maybe he's earned the attention this time,' or something like that.

When Tim didn't speak on cue, Tony's eyes pushed open.

Abby beamed down at him, her hair loose and messy and her eyes looking way too large and bright without her normal loads of dark make-up on. She must have gotten a late-night call about all this.

Gibbs was behind her, a hand on her shoulder to reel her back if necessary.

On his other side, Ziva. Studying him with relief in her eyes, but smirking at him to cover any worry.

Tony looked around, his heart beating hard in his chest. "Where's..." Fuck, he hated waking up after drugs. They must've had to keep him under. Surgery, maybe. Bullet didn't go through, most likely. "Where?"

"He's dead," Ziva reported promptly, her eyes glittering darkly.

He had a flash of about a thousand different images all at once – Tim in his boxers, his MIT shirt, blushing and grinning and shy. Or strong and driven and sensual. Tim laughing, Tim wiping away tears, Tim's fingers mingling with his even before they knew what was happening between them. Golden Girls and cheesecake and Tim on his knees bound up, blood down his chin. Defiant even through his humiliation.

Tony shook his head. "No."

"Ziva!" Abby sounded horrified. "Tony, no! He's right over there." She stepped away a bit, pointing to the side.

Tony looked over, forgetting how to breathe, and something cracked in his chest when he saw Tim hunched on a narrow cot, snoring softly.

His world narrowed, focused. Looked at the bandages around Tim's hand – scraped knuckles: Dougherty's face, he remembered that – and watched his shirt rise and fall with deep, regular breaths.

Hadn't lost him. Hadn't come so close to the end and then blown it. Thank God.

The sound of a slap was the only thing that drew his focus away from Tim, and in his relief it was easy to grin at Abby glaring at Ziva, whose hand was on her arm in surprise.

"Abby!" Ziva turned to Tony, though, apologetic. "I just assumed you meant Dougherty."

"Well, he didn't! You've got no sense of romance, woman."

Tony gaped at Abby, amusement fading as his eyes shot instantly back to Gibbs.

Gibbs just rolled his eyes as if irritated with the entire group. "Doc says you need to rest, DiNozzo. Let's go, ladies."

Abby humphed an annoyed breath. "What about sleeping beauty?"

Gibbs glanced at Tony, amusement shining in his eyes though his expression didn't change. "Duck had to slip some sedatives in his coffee to get him to sleep. Mind a temporary roommate?"

Tony grinned over at Tim. "I'll manage somehow."

Gibbs escorted Ziva and Abby out, but pushed the door closed behind them and stood there for a long moment.

"Boss?" Tony watched him, automatically apprehensive. He remembered a lot, but not everything.

Gibbs regarded him, and then regarded the cot beside him. His eyes were solemn. "Had a long talk with McGee last night," he said, almost idle, as if making aimless conversation.

Which Gibbs never did, so Tony thought about it.

Then his eyes widened as he remembered what it was he pressed Tim so hard to talk to Gibbs about. He glanced over at the cot, surprised and proud all over again. "Yeah? How'd that go?"

"Good." Gibbs studied the figure on the cot. "I have yet to regret killing anyone who was a threat to my people, but sometimes I have even less regret than others."

Tony blinked. "You...?"

"According to the report I filed, he was armed and I had no choice." Gibbs' eyes flashed, but softened on Tim's sleeping face. "That's really all you want to know about it."

Tony hesitated, watching the normally-shielded emotions stirring in Gibbs' eyes. Tony wanted Dougherty dead, whether he was a threat or not. In fact, he was pretty sure that if the confrontation in that hotel room had gone differently, if Dougherty had thrown down his gun and raised his hands in surrender...he'd still be dead now.

It wouldn't have been right, it wouldn't even have been justice, really. But it would have happened. And Tony would have slept well at night.

If someone was going to see that plan through, Tony was damned glad it was Gibbs.

Gibbs looked over at Tony when he didn't answer. He relaxed a little when his eyes met Tony's, when he saw whatever it was on Tony's face that he didn't bother trying to conceal.

Gibbs approached the bed and nodded at Tony's arm. "This kind of wound needs a lot of work, Tony. Just because it seems like it's better doesn't mean you can act like it was never there."

Tony raised his eyebrows, but glanced at Tim and understood that the words weren't just about the bullet wound in his shoulder.

"I know, boss. I've got no intention of being careless with it." He spoke carefully, searching Gibbs' face, wondering if this was really what it felt like. Acceptance, or approval, or permission, or any combination of the three.

Gibbs nodded, patting his arm and heading for the door. "You know," he threw out as he left, "I'm not carrying a knife on me."

Tony blinked. "Glad to hear it?"

"I'm just saying." Gibbs looked back, smirking faintly. "Sometimes my rules are situational. Some of them aren't sacred. Though you can keep that little fact to yourself."

Tony held his breath, kept his grin with some effort. "Don't worry, boss, it'll never leave this room." He glanced at Tim, who was noticeably still In This Room.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, but left without arguing the point.

Tony beamed, pushing himself carefully with one arm to sit up.

Dougherty was dead, Tim was safe, and Gibbs had all but ordered him to break Rule 12. Tony wasn't the type to overthink things, really. Not big on introspection, or retrospection, or any other kind of spections. He didn't want to go all thoughtful about exactly how he'd gotten to this spot, or whether chasing the Dougherties had been more of a blessing in the end or a curse.

In fact, all he really wanted to do was call Tim's name until his sedated ass woke up and they could get down to the serious business of starting the whole rest of their lives together.

Tony wasn't in the habit of denying himself these kinda of things, so...that's just what he did.

* * *

_End_


End file.
